


BORN TO DIE || CLATO (THG)

by thirdcabinclato



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, THG - Fandom, The Hunger Games, The Hunger Games (Movies), The Hunger Games (Movies) RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Thgfanfic, pls I love the careers so much, suzannecollins, the hunger games - Freeform, thg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:01:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdcabinclato/pseuds/thirdcabinclato
Summary: Clove Kentwell and Cato Hadley, the two Career tributes, infamously known as the ruthless killing machines in the 74th Hunger Games, the ferocious, bloodthirsty monster of a boy, and the dangerous, murderous warrior princess of District 2. That's how the people of Panem know them as. Unrelenting, vicious and sadistic. But like all things, we only know them as far as the eye can see. But despite their reputation for being two of the most ruthless tributes in Hunger Games history, who really are they?- -----------------------* basically the Careers spinoff backstory that we deserved but never got. I've always wanted to see it but never got to, and therefore i shall be writing it myself instead :) **please remember that most of whatever happens in this book is NOT CANON. I wrote it myself as FANFICTION so please keep that in mind while reading. not everything will be the same as the book that Suzanne Collins wrote OBVIOUSLY. happy reading!*
Relationships: Clato, catoandclove, cloveandcato
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. SOUNDTRACK

SOUNDTRACK 

Desire ~ Meg Myers   
"desire, i'm hungry, i hope you feed me, how do you want me?" 

War of Hearts ~ Ruelle   
"i can't help but love you, even though i try not to, i can't help but want you, i know that i'd die without you." 

Safe and Sound ~ Taylor Swift & the Civil Wars  
"just close your eyes, the sun is going down  
you'll be alright, no one can hurt you now  
come morning light, you and i'll be safe and sound" 

If I Killed Someone For You~ Alex Benjamin  
"would you love me more,  
if i killed someone for you?" 

Oblivion ~ M83  
"and when the nights are long  
all those stars recall, your goodbye"

Human ~ Rag'n'bone Man  
"i'm only human after all  
don't put your blame on me" 

The Other Side ~ Ruelle   
"i don't want to know what it's like to live without you  
don't want to know the other side of a world without you" 

Demons ~ Imagine Dragons   
"when you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide"

No Light, No Light ~ Florence + The Machine  
"and i'd do anything to make you stay  
no light, no light  
tell me what you want me to say" 

Baby ~ Bishop Briggs   
"how could something so bad look so damn good  
yeah he's still my baby  
yeah he's fuckin' crazy but he's still my baby"

Ava ~ Famy   
"my eyes are cuddled up with a heart condemned, i should love you and i swear i do" 

If We Have Each Other ~ Alex Benjamin   
"the world's not perfect, but it's not that bad  
if we got each other, and that's all we have" 

Born To Die ~ Lana Del Rey   
" 'cause you and i, we were born to die"

Blood // Water ~ grandson   
"we'll never get free,  
lamb to the slaughter, what you gon' do when there's blood in the water?" 

Just A Girl ~ No Doubt   
"'cause i'm just a girl, oh, little old me  
well, don't let me out of your sight"

We Must Be Killers ~ Mikky Ekko   
"we must be killers children of the wild ones  
killers, where we've got left to run"

Born For This ~ The Score   
"i'm not done till i'm on top  
i know i was born for this" 

Game of Survival ~ Ruelle   
"there's no surrender  
and there's no escape  
are we the hunters?  
or are we the prey?" 

Battle Scars ~ Lupe Fiasco  
"these battle scars, don't look like they're fading, don't look like they're ever going away"

You ~ Greta Isaac   
"if you only knew  
i would do anything   
for a taste of you" 

Skyfall ~ Adele   
"when the sky falls, we will stand tall"

Glory and Gore ~ Lorde   
"now we're in the ring and we're coming for blood  
you could try and take us but we're the gladiators"   
_______________

* more songs are in the playlist on my spotify. highly recommend listening to the soundtrack while reading this story. you can find it on spotify under the username @thirdcabinclato .hope you enjoy :)*


	2. ONE

CLOVE KENTWELL 

The sounds of wailing and crying pierced the early morning quiet of the house, rousing me from my sleep. I sit bolt upright in my bed, chills running down my spine. Fear grips me like a vice and I'm sent flying from my bed, and to the opposite room, where Leo and Ember sleep. 

Awful thoughts run through my head as I cry their names out in desperation. I'm convinced something terrible has happened to my siblings this time. Maybe one of them has been stolen away from the safety of their bedroom somehow. Maybe Leanore had another one of her episodes. Maybe the Capitol had really decided to pull a stunt and harm my family because of the crimes my parents had committed. 

I soon find out this is not the case. I sprint into the room and fall to my knees next to the tiny bed that Leo and Ember both share. Leo is curled up beneath the covers, writhing and yelling out in terror. Tears leak from his closed eyelids, streaming down his ashen cheeks. My heart squeezes. Of course. Today is the day of the Reaping. Small wonder that he's having nightmares again.

I reach out and gently shake him awake. "Leo. Leo, it's okay. Wake up, it was just a dream." I whisper, trying to be as comforting as possible. It takes me a few more minutes to finally coax Leo out of his nightmare. When I do, he leaps up from the bed and throws his arms around me, his bony shoulders wracked with sobs. I feel a pang somewhere deep in my chest. I hold him, stroking his dark, tangled curls and whispering in his ear. "It was just a nightmare. You're okay. It's okay." Our little sister, Ember, looks on with bewildered eyes, unsure what to do or say in this situation. I give her a smile that I hope is reassuring. 

But Ember doesn't need to be reassured. Despite the fact that she's nine, three years younger than Leo, she seems a lot older than him sometimes. Leo is as fragile as a butterfly's wings. He's the type that wouldn't dare to even harm a fly, the type who cries when Ember cries, who cries whenever Leanore loses control of herself again. 

Ember, despite her young age, is the complete opposite; I think she turned out more like me than Leo did. The only times she had ever cried were when she was born, and a couple of times since then. Ever since, I'd never seen her shed a single tear. She was brave, the one who put her arms around Leo and comforted him in the late nights when they were alone in their cold, dark bedroom, where the only source of light was the pale silver moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the moth-eaten curtains. 

She had claimed she wanted to volunteer to partake in the Games once she was eligible to do so, which meant the moment she turned eight, she had begged me to bring her to the Training Academy along with me and Leo so she could start training for the Games. I had no choice but to do so. On the days where I got to watch her train and observe her progress, I couldn't help but see an uncanny resemblance of myself in my little sister. A vicious, determined fighter despite only having a year of training. She's small in stature, but moves so quickly that even if you so much as blink, she's up and ready to attack you. The only difference between us is, while my talents lie in knive-throwing, hers lies in archery. I can't help but to feel some odd sense of pride in her. 

Leo, however, is an entirely different story. He isn't like me or Ember in the slightest. He has his own strengths for sure, but none of them were the strengths he's technically supposed to have in our district. He leans more towards the arts, and in healing. I'm not sure how he picked those interests up, considering how absolutely non-existent that is in our district. The children in Two are trained to be dangerous, skilled fighters, whose sole purpose is to train, volunteer, and then win the Games. To bring honour and pride to our district. 

Training for Leo was one thing. Having to participate in the Games was another. It would crush him like a bug. And despite all the love and pride I had for him as my younger brother, I knew that if he was sent into the Games, he would have no chance of winning. Even despite all the training he had undergone in the Academy. He was incompetent in dealing with most weapons, whether it was hand-to-hand combat, sword-fighting, spear-throwing, archery. He couldn't do it. The only thing he was even slightly capable of, was throwing knives, like me. Probably because it was in his genetics, and maybe because those little throwing knives were perfect for the way he was built. And he was a pretty fast runner too. But other than that, the Trainers in the Training Academy had pretty much given up all hope on him. They hardly ever paid attention to him anymore, firmly believing that he was a failure, someone unworthy of their time and effort. 

However, the lack of attention the Trainers paid my brother, was compensated for by the amount of attention that the other students gave my brother. In school, and in the Academy, Leo endured countless hours of ruthless teasing and bullying. It was horrible, probably the root cause of his nightmares every night. 

I stood up for him whenever I could, getting into fights and brawling with other students in order to protect him. But as we grew older, it became more difficult. We were in completely different parts of the school building or the Training Academy, and our break times never fell at the same time. All I could do left was teach my brother how to stand up for himself, teaching him how to fight back against their attacks. But even then, there were still words, and they hurt far more than whatever fists could do, especially to my brother. 

I remembered one day in the summer, probably two years ago. I had finished whatever training I had needed to complete, and I had dashed straight for the threes and fours, the level in which my brother trained. The moment I stepped into the room, I had heard the loud sounds of shouting, and talking and rowdy laughter. I felt my shoulders tense as I walked steadily closer to the thick circle of kids gathered in the centre of the room. I had clenched my jaw in anger, hoping to God that whatever was happening wasn't what I thought was happening. But I knew I was only humouring myself. As I had approached the circle, I felt horror and fury pulse through me in steady waves. 

Leo, my poor, sweet, innocent little brother was collapsed on the floor in the centre of the room, his tiny shoulders trembling in fear, his whimpers partly drowned out by the yells and hollers of the kids gathered around him, trapping him in their little circle. I had seen the faint shadows under his eyes and his jaw that I had known would swell up to become bruises later on. I had felt my blood boil beneath my skin as I watched a tall, muscular boy with spiky blond hair slowly make his way through the circle of children, up to the boy.   
That was it. 

"Hey!" I had screamed. My voice echoed around the room, startling the kids into silence. The giant of a boy had frozen in his tracks, slowly turning around to face the direction where my voice had come from. The moment he saw me, a smirk crossed his lips, his cold, piercing blue eyes taking me in, sizing me up. I recognised that look. That was the look I gave my opponents right before a fight. I pushed my shoulders back, stepping steadily forward. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I had asked in a dangerously low voice. I knew this boy. Everyone did. His name was Cato Hadley, a name that everyone in District 2 was familiar with. His parents were Fergus and Jaelyn Hadley, the victors of former Hunger Games from different years, and because of that, it was hard not to know who he was. Especially because of how utterly detestable he was to me. He was one of those arrogant types, who knew that he was the best, and therefore acted as such. He was such a Career it was absolutely sickening. I knew I was good. Hell, I was the best at knife-throwing. But I didn't parade around rubbing it in everyone's faces like a prat. Who did he even think he was, picking on someone six years younger than him? 

I had curled my lip in disgust as I stared him down. Or stared him up, rather. He was multiple heads taller than me, despite the fact that he was only a year older than me. He was massive. I was pretty sure that he could snap my neck with just a simple twist of his arm. No effort required. But he wouldn't get the opportunity to snap my neck or even get near me. I wouldn't let him. 

He had grinned at me, although his eyes remained cold. I probably would've been terrified of him if I wasn't me. I wasn't scared of anything. "You really shouldn't be talking like that. Aren't you like nine or something?" He asked sarcastically. The kids around us had snickered underneath their breaths. 

Rage had bubbled deep inside me, threatening to make an appearance. But I had controlled myself. I had given him a sheepish smile, daring to take a few more steps toward him. I had placed my hands behind my back and bounced lightly on the balls of my feet like a little girl. Then I sucked in a deep breath, releasing it with a loud sigh. I had let my shoulders droop. I dropped my eyes to the ground, staring ashamedly at the laces of my boots. I had chewed on my lower lip. "You're right," I had said quietly. And within a second I had leaped up from the tips of my toes gracefully, and took flight. I let my body land on him, wrapping my limbs around his chest, which was like a slab of iron, and embedded my fingernails deep into his flesh and clung on for dear life. Before he could even begin to throw me off, I had already pulled the blade from my waistband and had it impaled through the flesh of his upper shoulder. He had yelled out in pain and surprise. "Don't you fucking dare lay your hands on my brother ever again." I had hissed in his ear. I had gotten off of him before he could throw me off, and I stared coldly around at the terrified faces of the kids standing motionless around us. "That goes for the rest of you too." 

I had hurried over to where Leo sat, watching me with stunned, swollen eyes. I had smiled grimly at him as I took his quavering hands in mine and led him out of the room into safety. 

I had always done whatever I could to protect him. Not just that one time, or the other times that he was getting tormented by the other kids at the Academy and at school. But my whole life, I had dedicated to taking care of him and Ember and ensuring that they were as safe as possible, that they would be able to live a good life here. I technically wasn't supposed to be doing all of this, because I was only sixteen, just a teenager myself who was supposed to fulfil her duties in school and the Academy, and make friends and have fun with them or whatever it is other teenagers did.

But ever since my parents died, that was never an option for me.


	3. TWO

CLOVE KENTWELL 

SEVEN YEARS AGO 

After my parents' deaths, Leo, who was only four, and Ember, who was only a year fresh out of the womb, and I, only a clueless, helpless eight year old, were left to fend for ourselves. I still remember that awful day where the Peacekeepers came knocking on our front door, coming to announce my parents' deaths. I didn't even cry. I couldn't even wrap my head around this horrible news. Leo cried because he was scared, and Ember cried because Ember was still a baby. 

I remember being led out of my house by the Peacekeepers with my siblings in tow and they brought us to the Justice Building. I didn't even know why they were bringing us there, nor did I even care. I was too dazed. My parents, both of them, killed off in an accident during their jobs. Both of them, my beautiful, lovely, kind parents, gone. I was so sickened, so shocked, that I couldn't even bring myself to tears. 

I remember them leading us to a cramped, dusty office in the Justice Building where some important looking men started talking to me, rattling off some official sounding terms. It didn't even matter, what they were saying. I couldn't even hear them. I could just hear the blood pounding in my ears, feel the hairs on my arms standing on end, hear my siblings' loud, high pitched cries. 

I stared at the sunlight glaring at us through the windows of the office. It was like some kind of sick joke, how beautiful and bright the weather was outside, and my parents had just perished in a horrible accident and then died. I almost laughed at how disturbing it all was. 

All of a sudden, they brought this middle-aged woman inside of the office. She had dark hair pulled back into an unruly knot at the back of her head. Her eyes were sunken, her yellowish skin pulled so tautly against the bones of her face, that she looked like a skeleton. I could see the sharp bones protruding through her rumpled, stained shirt. Her eyes had some kind of wild, crazy look in them like she had just seen a ghost. Her gaze darted somewhat frantically from me and then to my siblings and then to the men in the room. 

I stared blankly at her in confusion. My thoughts were a fuzzy blur. "Who is she?" I asked, surprising myself with how cracked and ragged my voice sounded. "She's your new guardian, your aunt. She's the only existing relative we could find that's fit enough to take custody of you three," one of the men explained. That was the day we first met Leanore Anselin, our guardian for the remainder of our childhood years. 

She took us back to her house, which was located nearest the mountainous areas of the district, the farthest away from the Square and the shops and most of the people. Essentially, it was the end of the line in Two, where the poorest, most impoverished people of the district lived. Two was always seen as one of the most wealthy, one of the most affluent districts in the entire nation of Panem. And sure, I guess we were. We all knew about the situations in other districts like Eleven and Twelve. But in every rich area, there are always those who have no choice but to struggle with poverty while the rest of the population get on just fine. It was just the way the world worked.

When we arrived at the house, my first thought was that the house shouldn't have even been considered a house in the first place. It was broken-down and dilapidated. Tiles from the roof were falling out and the cheap paint that coated the house's exterior was chipping and peeling in multiple places. The front yard was more like a pigsty than a front yard, minus the pigs. It was infested with droppings from stray animals, permeated with overgrown shrubs and bushes and wilted flowers. 

Leanore, Leo and I cautiously made our way across the filthy yard to the front door as I carried Ember in my arms, patting her back gently to stop her from crying. I observed the dried up grass and dead greenery that crunched beneath my feet. I moved forward a step and felt something shatter under the toe of my boot. I gave a start and jumped back. I had unwittingly stepped on a broken beer bottle. 

The interior of the house wasn't much better either. I wasn't even sure if this place was safe to inhabit. I wrinkled my nose in disgust at everything; at the sheer number of empty beer bottles that littered the sitting room, at the layer of dust that seemed to cover everything in the house, at the stench of unwashed dishes wafting in from the kitchen and the reek of unwashed clothes and dirty floors. I felt bile creep into my throat and I closed my eyes, trying to calm my raging stomach. Trying to control my emotions. To calm my mind. To forget the horribleness of our situation. How was this woman supposed to take care of us if she couldn't even take care of her own home? 

I exhaled sharply, glaring at the frail looking woman who was now supposed to be our legal guardian. "Where do we sleep for tonight?" I asked. She turned around slowly and then veered off a couple of steps to her right. She held the wall next to her to try and steady herself. 

I gritted my teeth tightly, hoping to the Gods above that I wouldn't throw up all over Ember, who I was still cradling in my arms. 

Eventually, the woman managed to steady herself and she motioned for us to follow her as she led us down a dimly lit corridor where four rooms lined its walls. She pointed to the closed door at the end of the hallway. "That's yours," She told me. Her voice sounded raspy and low like sandpaper scraping against rocks. Like she smoked or something. She pointed to another room at the opposite end of the hallway. "The other two can sleep in there." She spent another five minutes giving us a "tour" of the house. She directed us to where the bathrooms were, where the sitting room which we had already seen was, and where the kitchen was.

Then she just turned away from us and staggered into the room that she had informed us was hers. The door shut with a sharp snap and I had nothing else to do except lead my siblings into their tiny room. It smelled like mildew and dust, lit only by a lone oil lamp in the corner. Already I could hear the squeak of mice, and see the cobwebs decorating the ceilings and walls. I knew for a fact that I would not be able to sleep tonight. Neither would Leo, who was already beginning to cry again. 

We spend the night huddled together in that dark, dusty room, listening to the sounds of each other's hushed, frightened sobs, quirky mourning the loss of our parents. Listening to the sounds of the night animals from the mountains that roam around outside our house, listening to the sounds of wailing and anguished crying coming from Leanore's room. That was the moment that I realised Leanore wouldn't be able to help us. Wouldn't be able to comfort us, to give us what we needed. She was not fit enough to do it. That was the moment where I realised that I had to be the one to take matters into my own hands, to make sure that my siblings and I would come out of this alive.

The rest of our days spent with Leanore were pretty much hell. We got accustomed to our life there after some time, but that didn't mean it got any easier or any better. But I needed to do what had to be done. I had to take charge of almost everything even though I was only eight. I dressed myself and Leo up for school, fed us with what meagre food was available in the kitchen for breakfast, left instructions for Leanore to follow so she knew how to take care of Ember while I was away at school. I brought us to the elementary school, signed us up to be able to get free meals during lunchtime so at least we'd have something to eat. I got us both home safely, made sure Ember had been safe in Leanore's hands during the hours I had spent in school. I fed her, rocked her, played with her and Leo. I cleaned the house so it would be more bearable to live in, so our lives wouldn't be so miserable. Or any more miserable than it already was. 

But I could only do so much. I was just eight years old. I didn't know how to cook. I didn't have any money to go out and buy things that we needed, like groceries and clothes and formula and diapers for Ember and supplies for school. There were many nights, more than I'd like to admit, where we went to bed with our stomachs empty. Where we went to school without any food inside of us. Where even poor baby Ember ran out of milk formula to drink and starved like the rest of us. Where Leo and I went to school missing textbooks, missing stationery, missing paper which we couldn't even afford. Where we had to make substitutes for the diapers Ember needed but couldn't pay for. We suffered and we starved. And Leanore couldn't do anything. 

She spent most of her time locked away in her room, crying to herself and drinking her days away. Sometimes I think she forgot we were even there. At first, it was hard to blame her because of how pitiful she seemed. Especially because I knew that there was something not quite right with her, that something had slightly addled with her brain and made her so sick. I told myself and I told my siblings that we should be grateful that she even took us in in the first place. Otherwise we would've just been dumped in the Community Home. 

But as the weeks and months went on, I grew less and less tolerant. She was the adult here, she was the one who was supposed to have the money. She was supposed to take responsibility for us. I suddenly wished she hadn't come for us at all. Even the Community Home would be a lot better than whatever situation we were in now. At least we would have food to eat and soap to bathe with and supplies for school. 

I practically banged her door down that day. I screamed in her face. I slapped her and grabbed at her with my bony hands and wept desperately on the floor, begging for money. Pleading for her to do something, anything. Imploring her to please, please help us before we died in this house because of starvation. She didn't even blink. It was like I was invisible. I cried so hard I threw up whatever insubstantial lunch I had left in my stomach. All of the anguish and grief and fury that I felt, all of it came pouring out of me uncontrollably. Pain that we had to endure from living here, in a world without our parents, rage that even the time I needed to grieve for my parents, my kind, loving parents, was stolen away from me so cruelly. 

I could hear my poor siblings sobbing outside and I knew I had done wrong. I couldn't lose my grip on myself again. I couldn't be throwing tantrums and letting my emotions get the best of me like Leanore. I needed to set an example, I needed to hold up for my siblings, to show them that everything was going to be alright. That I had things under control. So I came out of Leanore's room, wiped my face dry of tears, and held them and sang to them and played with them and told them stories and jokes that I hoped would serve as temporary solace for them. 

Later on that afternoon, after I had put my siblings to bed for a nap, I left the house and I made my way across the Square and the streets lined with rows and rows of well-kept houses that belonged to the rest of the population of Two that had enough to eat, enough to survive and not have to suffer. I stared bitterly at them as I stomped my way up to the majestic stone building that everyone knew as the Training Academy. 

As was the way of our district, most of the children of Two had to be enrolled into the Training Academy at the age of eight so they could begin to train for the annual Hunger Games. If you signed up at the Academy, you would get a small sum of money and some grain and oil in return. 

My parents never wanted me to register me in the Academy. I didn't know why exactly, because it would just give me an advantage of winning the Games. I would probably have to participate in the Games anyway, if the odds weren't in my favour, so wouldn't it just be better if I was already well prepared? But I never questioned them. 

Now that my parents were gone, however, I didn't have their words to guide me. I could do whatever I wanted to do and no one would be able to stop me. I could enrol myself in the Academy and train to win the Games, while also receiving money and food that would keep my siblings and I alive for a few years if we were careful. I didn't even need to think twice about it. I marched up the steps to the Academy, registered myself and mere minutes later, I was heading down the steps and back to the house with an envelope of cash carefully stashed away underneath my jacket, carrying a big bag of grain and oil that I swung happily from my wrist. 

Our lives changed since then. A small change, but a change nevertheless. We were no longer starving, and we had just enough money to buy things that we absolutely needed. Diapers and formula for Ember, school supplies and soap amongst other things. We didn't have enough for luxuries though, like new clothes or toys, but that was a small concern. Considering that almost a few weeks ago, we were pretty much on the verge of death, we were faring pretty well.

Everyday, after school, I brought Leo home, made sure him and Ember were safely tucked away in their beds for their afternoon nap, and then I ran straight to the Academy to train. I knew my parents wouldn't approve of what I was doing if they were watching me right now, and every time this thought crossed my mind, I felt a wave of guilt surge through me. And then I felt angry at myself for allowing myself to feel anything at all. 

I couldn't afford it. It was too risky to feel things like this. If I did, the emotions I had felt since my parents' death would rise to the surface and I wouldn't be able to stop them. I couldn't lose control of myself again. I had to remain calm, remain strong.I had to do it for my siblings. I couldn't ever let them witness me like that again. Especially because I was all they had left. 

So I took a deep breath. Felt my blood cool, my heart rate drop, my limbs grow motionless, my mind blank and calm. Feel the ice cold metal of the throwing knife in my hand. Imagine the training area around me fall silent, so silent that I would be able to hear a pin drop. 

And then I throw the first knife. I hear a loud thud that tells me the knife has landed on the target. Throw the second knife. The same thud. I turn to look at the targets. Both knives perfectly embedded in their respective targets, a mere half an inch away from the bulls-eye. That's the closest anyone in my level has gotten. 

I feel hands clapping me on the back and shoulders in congratulations, whoops and cheers around me. I don't even allow myself to crack a smile although I feel pride bubbling somewhere deep in my chest. 

Ever since then, I felt a newfound passion for training. I felt energy and excitement flowing through my veins each time I entered the Academy, refreshing me and rejuvenating me. Every single time I went up the steps into the Academy, all the problems that I had were wiped clear from my mind. 

We learnt to master different skills; archery, spear-throwing, hand-to-hand combat. But knife-throwing was my favourite station—it was also the station I excelled the most at. 

It felt amazing each time I threw the knife, watching the blade heading straight for the target, followed by the satisfying sound of the knife lodging itself right in the centre of the target. 

Every time I felt even any form of emotion, I only grew more determined, and I only threw harder. And soon I mastered that skill. It was made for me. 

I wasn't big at all, in fact, I was one of the smallest in the whole Academy. I wasn't as strong as the other kids here either, but those light, small, throwing knives, they were made for me and I was made for them. Knife throwing became my thing, and only mine. Nobody could handle them as well as I could, no matter how hard they practiced, and everybody knew that. 

In fact, I excelled so much at this particular skill, that my progress in that station alone was able to help me get promoted into the next level, with the fours and fives, and soon, the fives and sixes. I was the first one in my level to get promoted in just a short span of time. 

I could feel the jealous stares, could hear the envious whispers the others were exchanging behind my back. But I didn't care. I liked it. I liked being the best at knife-throwing. I liked that it made people mad that I was the best. I liked knowing that I was the best at this. 

I didn't care about what anybody thought of me. I didn't care about anyone at all in this place, or even at school. I had no time for such ridiculous things. I used to long to have friends, like the other kids did. I used to yearn to hang out with them and talk to them at school and then head to training together and share jokes and exchange secrets with them like everyone else. But now, despite only having a year or two pass by, my whole perspective of things had changed. 

All of that friendship nonsense was beyond me. I had better things to do with my time. Study, take care of my siblings, and train. I would train so hard until I could barely walk the next day. I trained extra hours, staying back after everyone else had gone home, or coming to the Academy extra early after school, so I could have more training hours.

I missed my parents. I really did. But I couldn't think like them anymore. I couldn't be like them anymore. I didn't want to be compassionate like them. I didn't want to be warm and kind and forgiving like they were. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to care about anybody except myself and my siblings. 

I would do whatever I could to protect them, to ensure that they would have a better life, where they didn't have to be the poorest in a rich district that didn't seem to care for them, where they didn't have to starve and suffer in silence like they already had. I wouldn't allow it. This meant only one thing. 

I couldn't be like my parents. In the world that we lived in, I had to comply, to live like everyone else in this district. Standing out and being like my parents would only mean trouble. It was not an option. Because if I made it an option, they would kill me, just as they had killed my parents.


	4. THREE

CLOVE KENTWELL 

I wish I was lucky enough to say that I hadn't known my parents very well before they died, so mourning for them wouldn't be so painful. 

Unfortunately, however, that was not the case. 

My parents were what had shaped my character. Or whatever character I had at the age of eight. They were ... eccentric. At least that was the word people used to describe them, and it never sounded like they meant it in a good way. Even I had always questioned how people like them had ended up in a district like this. They had just never fit into the mould of classic District 2 citizens. 

The people of Two were all raised with warrior mindsets. They were hard-hearted, most of them lacking in empathy, and all of them seemed to have this sick obsession of training their children to become exactly like them; ruthless, dangerous killers, who would bring honour and glory to their district. My parents, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. 

They were kind, and warm-hearted. They exuded an aura of compassion and care and righteousness wherever they went. They didn't believe in all that "honour and glory to the district nonsense" as they would've phrased it. They believed that pride and merit to Two could be done in other, "more virtuous" ways. Like a person's own talents and values. In simpler terms, they never agreed with the Games. 

Some say that's why they died. 

FIVE YEARS AGO

I ran my fingers across the cool, deadly sharp blade of my throwing-knife. I breathed in deeply, studying my faded reflection in the metal, willing my mind to focus. 

I lifted my arm, straightened my shoulders, poised to throw my knife. And then I threw, letting it fly from my grasp. I heard it whiz through the air and then lodge right in the centre of the target, just the way I wanted it to. 

I leaned back, satisfied. I retrieved the knife from the board, and made my way to the back of the line of students. I ran the blade of my knife on the hem of my shirt. It wasn't even dirtied in the slightest. But I took very good care of my knives. Almost like they were my own children. I had to always make sure they were clean, shiny and sharp. 

"Hey, you're Clove aren't you?"

I looked up. Standing in front of me was a girl. A very pretty one, at that. She appeared to be a little bit older than me, like everyone in my level was. She had masses of bright red curls that were twisted into two perfect braids down her shoulders. Her grey stare seemed to pierce right through me as she stared down at me. Her name was Tianna La Rue. Everyone knew her because she was pretty and popular, but most importantly, she was one of the most skilled students in the Academy. 

For a moment, I was almost intimidated. But I couldn't let it show. I knew that people like her always seemed to feed off of other people's fear. Classic Career material. 

"Yes. Can I help you?" I asked, not even trying to keep the suspicion from my voice. 

Her lips curled upward into a grin. Her incisors, which were sharper than an average person's, glinted under the light. I couldn't help but be reminded of a hungry animal. "Oh, you're the girl whose parents died, right?" 

My shoulders tensed. I could feel the beginnings of anger beginning to rise to the surface. I looked up at her as calmly as I could. "Mhm. You're a little late if you didn't already know that." I started to polish my knife again. 

Tianna snarled. No one had ever acted this way around her; ignoring her presence like I was doing. I knew she wasn't used to this kind of audacity, especially by some scrawny younger girl like me. And I also knew that I would have to pay for it dearly. 

She bent down so she was eye level with me. She gripped my braid and yanked it so hard that I was forced to look at her. I couldn't prevent the gasp that left my mouth. 

She seemed to enjoy my reaction. She smiled even wider at me. "Listen to me. You don't deserve to be in this Academy, let alone on the same training level as me." 

I clenched my jaw. "Why is that?" Her grip on my braid tightened and I grimaced as she pulled me closer to her. At this point, I could feel all eyes trained on us eagerly, ready for a fight. 

"Because your parents didn't belong in Two either. They were a bunch of little weirdos who tried to be different from the rest of us, trying to be kind and honourable and whatever." She paused, her gaze boring deep inside of me. She seemed to be revelling in this moment. "But look where that got them." 

That was it. The anger that I felt didn't come out slowly, gradually, like I had expected. It was more of an explosion. I just snapped. 

Without warning, I ripped free from her grasp and with all the strength I had in my skinny twelve year old arms and, I punched her hard, right in the throat. She gasped, and when she was momentarily stunned, choking for air, I knocked my fist right into her nose. I heard a satisfying crack. 

She screamed, not out of pain, but more of complete rage. She held her hand up gingerly against her face, wiping the blood that was slowly trickling from her broken nose.   
"You b-!" She started to growl, but not before I pounced on her. 

My blood was boiling, and everything around me was red. I was going to kill her. I was going to make her pay for what she had said about my parents. I was going to take her down and make her bleed. I was going to cut her lips right off her pretty face so she would no longer be able to talk. To say anything about my parents. All rationality had left me. And frankly, I didn't miss it. 

She flipped me over with ease, considering how light I was. She slammed me hard against the floor, and my shoulders and back screamed in protest. Soon, she had her entire body weight on my stomach, and I couldn't breathe. She was raining punches on me, her fists colliding against every bone on my body. 

I realised then, that this wasn't a fight. It lacked the gracefulness and swift, precise movements of a fight. It was more of a brawl than anything else. 

Why? I thought. Brawling seemed so...unsophisticated. We weren't trained to brawl, we were trained to fight, to attack, to win. This was such a shame. 

Tianna lifted her arm, prepared to knock me out once and for all, but not before my fingers closed around my knife, and I stabbed her in the shoulder. Hard. She shrieked in pain and recoiled. 

Using that moment of her temporary distraction, I put all my weight on my upper body and kicked hard against her stomach, toppling her over. She landed with a sickening thud against the ground. 

I crawled over her, pressing the toe of my boot into the centre of her neck, effectively cutting off her air supply. She choked, blood streaming down her face. I pulled the knife out from her shoulder and she screamed out again. I pressed the bloody tip of it lightly against her face, right next to her mouth, threatening to break the surface of her skin. 

"Don't you ever say anything about my parents again, or next time, I really will kill you." 

Then, I got up and limped out of the training area, slamming the door shut behind me. I hobbled away towards the nearest bathroom I could find. Thankfully, it was deserted. Everyone was busy training. I closed the bathroom door behind me and slumped down onto the cold tiles. My mind was racing, my chest heaving. What had just happened? 

I had utterly lost control of myself. I had been so completely angry that I had literally lost my bearings. Lost my mind, in fact, the way I had attacked Tianna like that. I could have killed her. I probably would have if I hadn't been in a good mood today. Now I realized why people used the word 'mad' to describe people who were angry and people who were crazy. 

I examined my blade, the tip of it stained red with Tianna's blood. I wrinkled my nose up at it in disgust and began to wipe it clean with my shirt. 

Still, I couldn't say that I regretted what I had done though. People like her who were foolish enough to say such awful things to someone...They were just asking to be taught a lesson. I laughed grimly under my breath, wiping blood from my nose. Tianna had gotten what was coming to her, thanks to her stupidity for saying something like that.

I pushed myself off the ground with great difficulty and dragged my feet towards the row of sinks. I inspected my reflection in the mirror in front of me and started to assess the damage. 

My braid was a tangled bird's nest and my scalp was tender to the touch because of how hard Tianna had yanked my hair. My face was bruised, blue and black shadows against my jaw and around my eyes. I huffed in irritation. My face would probably be swollen for weeks. My nose was broken too, a steady stream of blood trickling from it. I held my sleeve up to it, attempting to stem the flow. Judging from the way my eyes teared with pain each time I breathed, my ribs were probably either bruised or fractured too. My shoulders and my tailbone were also pretty sore from when Tianna had slammed me against the floor. 

I groaned in pain as I limped out of the bathroom, in search of the infirmary. I really needed to patch myself up fast before things got worse. 

As I stumbled along the empty hallways of the Academy, I couldn't help but think that Tianna's words did have some ring of truth to them.

"Because your parents didn't belong in Two either. They were a bunch of little weirdos who tried to be different from the rest of us, trying to be kind and honourable and whatever. But look where that got them." 

I ground my teeth together so hard I thought they might break. No matter how much I despised Tianna, how stupid and disrespectful she was for even talking about my parents like that, I couldn't help but think; was it possible that she was telling the truth? 

"Stop being stupid, Clove. She's an airhead, for God's sake, why would you even believe anything that comes out of her mouth?" I chided myself. And that thought consoled me for the moment. 

But later that night, I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Not because of the pain that persisted throughout my body, but because of what Tianna had said. 

"Because your parents didn't belong in Two either. They were a bunch of little weirdos who tried to be different from the rest of us, trying to be kind and honourable and whatever. But look where that got them." 

Was it possible that...? I jolted up in my bed in horror, my ribs screaming in protest. I wrapped my arms around myself, unable to breathe. My parents were murdered? I stared at far end of the room, trying to make sense of my jumbled thoughts. 

Then I fell back into bed, laughing so hard my body hurt. Of course they hadn't been murdered. I knew how they had died. Those men had told me it was that horrible stone quarry accident and that had been that. I wrapped myself in my blankets. How ridiculous it was for my parents to be murdered. It was just a tragic, unfortunate accident that they hadn't deserved, hadn't seen coming. Who in the world would even think of murdering my parents, who were the kindest, sweetest people District 2 had to offer? 

But then it occurred to me that maybe that was exactly why they had died. And the longer I thought about it, the more it made sense. 

My parents had been too kind, too gentle. They stood out in Two. They had been too righteous. Righteous to the point that they had disagreed with the Games and everything it stood for. And by doing that, they had defied the Capitol. And since when did the Capitol like to be defied? 

It was suddenly all very clear to me. My parents had been threats to the Capitol. And threats needed to be eliminated. It was easy. So easy it was laughable. The Capitol had us all wrapped right around its finger. How simple it would have been to just arrange a convenient little accident in the stone quarries, and there. Just like that. Carolina and Jerome Kentwell, gone. Died because of a tragic accident that happened in the middle of their jobs. 

It dawned on me then, and I was terrified beyond reason. If they had gone after my parents, surely Leo and Ember and I were next. I couldn't let us die. I couldn't let us suffer anymore. I had to protect us. So I did everything in my power to do so. 

I couldn't be like my parents. I couldn't be righteous and compassionate like they had been. I couldn't stand out in the way they had. I had to lay low, to live like everybody else in Two did. I needed to obey the Capitol, need to comply, to do everything they wanted us to do. Resisting was not an option. 

I trained like never before, so I could become the best in the Academy, so I could be among the few, most skilled students to be selected to play in the Games. I demonstrated all the values of a classic Two citizen. I became exactly what they wanted me to become. A ruthless, dangerous killing machine, filled with a lust for blood. At first I had just been pretending. But I had been pretending for too long, and soon what was an act and what was reality seemed to blur together until I could no longer tell the two apart. 

I enjoyed the training a little too much. I grew eager to turn eighteen so I would finally get my chance to volunteer for the Games. The Games were something I grew to look forward to. I believed in my skills, I believed that I could come out of the arena alive. I believed that I could emerge the victor. When I won, Two would be showered with food and riches and goodies. Which meant extra food and money that would help Ember, Leo and I. We would be rich beyond our dreams. We didn't need to suffer anymore, didn't need to worry about potentially starving to death anymore. 

And just like that, I became the very person my parents so adamantly wanted to prevent me from becoming.

I was the picture of an ideal citizen of Two.

I was a warrior. I was a Career.


	5. FOUR

CLOVE KENTWELL

I ruffle Leo's damp brown curls. "It's okay. Come on. Breakfast should be ready." I lead the way out of the bedroom. Breakfast better be ready. If it wasn't... I roll my eyes, thinking of Leanore. 

I walk into the kitchen. Leanore stands there stiffly, her eyes wide and watchful as if expecting me to attack her or something. It's not unlikely. I stop in my tracks, listening to my siblings' shuffling footsteps outside. I reach forward, grabbing Leanore by the wrist and pulling her aside, out of view from the kitchen door. Her eyes are bulging out of their sockets now.

I know I scare her. I can't blame her, especially after that one day a couple of years ago, where I stabbed a knife through our kitchen table, right in the space between her fingers. I felt no remorse. Still don't. Especially because that was what had made her get her act together for me and my siblings. 

I stare her down, gritting my teeth together. "Your bedroom is right next to theirs. Would it kill you to head over there to check on them when Leo's having nightmares? I can't always be the one to do that. What will happen if I ever I go to the Games and I'm not there to take care of them? Huh?" I grab her by the shoulders and shake her. She's terrified, I can tell. "Leanore Anselin. You promised that day. You promised you would pull your act together for us. I'm reminding you of that promise now." I release her and walk away. I pause at the doorway. "At least you made breakfast." 

I head over to the kitchen table where my siblings are feasting on hot bowls of grain and slices of fruit. I stand there and watch them. Leo glances up at me and nods down to his bowl of mush. "Are you hungry? There's still more." I shake my head. "I'm good. I don't have much of an appetite anyway." Then, my eyes catch sight of Ember, who's toying with her slices of fruit. "Especially not when your sister is playing with her food like that," I say pointedly. 

Ember's eyes widen, dropping the slice of pear back on her plate. I take a stray packet of crackers that's laying on the table and throw it at her head. She ducks out of the way, and I hear the sound of the crackers hit the ground as I turn away towards the bathroom. "Did you know that you just missed?" Ember yells triumphantly. 

I laugh to myself, stepping into the bathroom. "Did you know that I won't miss later on when I come out of the bathroom?" I shut the door behind me. 

I run myself a hot bath, washing my hair and scrubbing my skin until I'm sparkling clean. Then, I dry myself off and start to get ready. It's tradition for everyone in the district to be dressed their finest. For me, my "finest" is the same every year.

The same satin dress my dad gave me when I was seven or eight. I'm sixteen now and it still manages to fit me well enough in most areas, although it's a tight squeeze and the skirt is way too short for my personal taste despite all the altering I've tried to do to it. But it's the only thing in my closet that's even slightly respectable to wear for this occasion. I slip it over my head and then do my hair. I comb through the wet tangles and then painstakingly braid it up in the best hairstyle my fingers can possibly create. It takes forever, and even then, the only thing that's even holding it together is the sheer amount of clips and pins I've used. 

I step out of the bathroom in a cloud of soap-scented mist and head back to the kitchen. Leo and Ember have finished with breakfast and I can hear them in their bedroom, preparing themselves for the Reaping. 

Leo is dressed in a plain shirt with buttons down the front and a pair of plain pants he'd spent all night trying to iron. Ember's wearing one of my old dresses with the ruffled sleeves and the gauzy white skirt that falls right below her knees. The sun that hits her back casts a halo of white light around her head, and especially with the dress, she looks like an angel. 

I collapse on the edge of their bed. "Well, you guys look nice, don't you?" 

We spend the next half an hour holed up together in the bedroom, them chattering away as I sit there, doing their hair and adjusting their clothes. Then, Leo and I head out the front door to get checked in for the Reaping. Since Ember's only nine, she's not eligible for the Reaping yet which means that she doesn't have to stand in the Square like the rest of us. Usually, she just sticks with Leanore and they stand right at the edge of the Square in front of the large screens to watch the Reaping. 

As we walk to the Square, I feel a tug on my hand. Leo has stopped in his tracks, with this wild look of fear in his eyes. "What's wrong, kid?" I ask gently. 

"Clove, I'm scared. I don't want to get reaped."

I try for a reassuring smile. "Leo, this is your first year. All the odds are in your favour. Your name is one among hundreds! You'll be okay." 

He doesn't seem to be reassured. "But what if I'm not? What if I am reaped?" 

I want to tell him that it's not something he should be dreading. It's something he should be wanting, in fact. But then I remember that he's only twelve. And those words just don't seem very appropriate at this point in time. So I squeeze his hand and look straight into his eyes. 

"You won't be. And even if you do, someone'll volunteer. Someone always volunteers here." I can sense him calm down. "Ready to go now?" He nods slowly, and we continue walking. We line up outside the Square. Thankfully, there isn't that many people yet, so check-in should be a less tedious process. At the last minute, I decide I want to go on a walk first before getting checked-in. So I just queue beside Leo and wait for him to get checked-in before I leave. 

I watch as he gets his finger pricked, he is accounted for, and he is allowed to enter the Square. Right before he enters, I stop him.

"You'll be okay on your own inside, right?" He looks at me quizzically and then understanding dawns on him. "Yeah, I will." My brother understands that I get a little overwhelmed and need to go on walks sometimes, just to take my mind off of things and get some fresh air. Throw my knives against some random trees in our backyard until they needed to be sharpened again. The number of times I've needed to do that at home in the middle of the night or after dinner or after training was too many to even count on one hand. I used to go on them alone, but then as time passed, I eventually went on those walks, those short moments of relief and peace with someone else. The only person I trusted. 

And Leo knows this because suddenly he's smirking at me, his eyebrows raised playfully. I get this reaction from him every time I announce I'm going for a walk. I lean into him and hiss into his ear. "I will kill you before this Reaping even starts." He giggles and then pushes me away. "Go on. I bet your boyfriend's waiting for you." He winks. 

I fix a dagger-like stare on him. "There has been strictly nothing romantic between me and him, okay? He's just a friend. God." I can't believe I'm even having this conversation right now. Not because it's with my brother, but because I'm even having it at all. Seriously, what if people hear this conversation right now? What would they even think? 

"Fine!" Leo exclaims, rolling his eyes at me. God, did he get that attitude from me? I need to fix that once this whole Reaping ordeal is over. 

"Whatever, Leo. The twelve-year olds are at the front row left side of the Square." 

"I can read the signs, you know." 

"Huh. Sometimes I forget you can even read," I snort. Then I feel something familiar gnawing on the inside of my stomach. Worry. "You'll be okay by yourself in there, right? I'll only be gone for a few minutes." 

Leo nods seriously. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I'm not scared anymore." We stand in silence for a while and then Leo pushes me again. "Now, go! He. Is. Waiting." 

I turn away from him. "Shut up before I make you, nuthead." 

"Have fun!" Leo singsongs behind me. 

"I will!" And then I walk away, beginning my search for Cato Hadley.


	6. FIVE

CATO HADLEY 

Sunlight streams in through the windows, casting golden beams of light directly into my eyes. I grunt, rolling straight off my bed and landing in an undignified heap on the ground. I lie there for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of shuffling footsteps and the clinking of plates against cutlery from downstairs. 

So, it seems like my parents were up and about already. I scoff, pushing myself off the floor. Of course they were. They only ever rose early to "eat breakfast together as a family" on one day of the year, and that was the Reaping. Good God, this was going to be hell. 

I decide to go ahead and prepare for the Reaping. Although my stomach is growling in dissent, pleading me to just go ahead and just eat the delicious meal that must be awaiting me downstairs, I ignore it. No matter how tempting the smell of sizzling meat was, I would not cave in. I would not eat anything my parents had made. And I would not go down there and risk having any type of interaction with them until I absolutely had no other choice. 

So I take my time in the shower, take my time grooming myself, take my time getting changed for the Reaping until my appearance is impeccable. Anything less than that, and it would be unacceptable: by my standards and Two's. 

The Reaping was a huge deal in my district, and probably in every other district as well, but especially in Two. It was something of a holiday, some kind of celebration. A ceremony in which another future victor would be selected. It was especially more enjoyable for us, the children of Two. Experiencing the thrill of standing in the Square, hoping that it was your name that was pulled from the glass bowl, hoping that the opportunity to participate in the Games was yours. Hoping that the chance to prove your worth and bring your district glory and riches like nothing else was yours. 

None of that for me this year, though. Or any year before this one. I am only given one chance to volunteer, and that will be next year, once I've finally turned eighteen. Next year will be mine for the taking. My time will come, and I will make the most out of it. For now, though, I'll just have to watch and wait. 

Still, despite this, the Reaping's still entertaining. It's exciting to see who'll be granted the honour of representing Two, and even more exciting to bet against their odds of surviving. I hope this year's tributes will be competent enough that at least one of them has a chance of winning. I certainly hope this Games wouldn't be as depressing as last year's.

The tributes from last year had both been Careers. Skilled, well-trained and the odds entirely in their favour. At least we had thought. Before we knew it, both of them were dead. Killed off, before they had even made it to the final ten tributes. Our district had gone into a state of misery; it was awful. We hadn't experienced anything like it in a few years. The shops had all been closed, and even school and work had been suspended. Everyone had locked themselves away in their houses, their curtains drawn shut, mourning their loss. Not the tributes' lives, of course. But rather, the blow the reputation of their district had taken. 

As for the dead tributes, they were shipped back to their grieving families in simple wooden boxes, and had respectable enough funerals held for them. Sure, they would be missed in some way or another. But no one would really make an effort to remember them; not their faces, not their names. Especially after they had disgraced the entire district that way. Not only dying, but not even making it to the final ten tributes. I really do wish the tributes this year will be a vast improvement from last year's. 

Although if I had the chance to go, nobody would even need to worry about anything. Finally, I decide to head downstairs. I sigh deeply as I enter the dining room. 

Jaelyn Hadley sits primly at the end of the table, sipping tea from a mug. Her posture is ramrod straight, like it always is. She's clad in her 'finest dress' , although it changes every year, and her thick, blonde locks are piled extravagantly on top of her head. Expensive looking gemstones and pearls adorn her throat and dangle from her ears and wrists. Her face is caked heavily with make-up, her eyelids heavy with glitter and her cheeks and lips painted a rosy pink. No question people would be fawning all over her as soon as she entered the Square, admiring her beauty. But to me, I think she just looks clownish. Someone old trying so pathetically to look young. 

Sitting beside her is Fergus Hadley, my father, who thankfully just looks the way he always does, with his bald head, neatly trimmed beard and crisp navy blue suit. He glances up from his plate to look at me as he spears a piece of sausage with his fork. 

"Breakfast is in the kitchen," He says. I shake my head and take an apple from the kitchen counter. "No thanks. I'm not that hungry." 

"Sit down," He commands. So I do. I pick the farthest seat away from him as possible. I observe him carefully as he chews, his cold grey eyes fixated on me. Then, he leans back in his chair. Though his posture is relaxed, at ease, the look in his eyes says otherwise. Stony and cold and something else...rage? I didn't understand this at all. I hadn't even done anything yet. 

There's a long, nerve wracking pause before he speaks. "Don't volunteer, Cato. Not this year." His voice has an edge to it. But then again, there always is whenever he talks to me. 

"I know. I won't," I reply, fighting to keep the anger from my voice. Why was he even telling me this? He's told me this every single year now. Did he think I was stupid or something? 

He doesn't appear satisfied. But then again, since when had he ever been satisfied with me? He leers at me, his eyes as cool and unforgiving as ever. "If you do..." He trails off ominously before bursting into humourless laughter. He gets up and walks right out of the dining room.

I wait for the sound of his footsteps to gradually fade into nothing before getting up from my seat. I had been dismissed. I turn my head for a last glimpse of my mother. She hasn't moved from her rigid, almost robotic position from about five minutes ago. She's staring off into space, her eyes glazed over and unfocused as if I don't even exist. And to think she had ever been a victor. I shake my head in disgust and storm right out of the front door. 

I'm so ticked off I feel like I might just start yelling and throwing things around on the street. But I don't, even though I'm so sorely tempted to. So instead, I put as much distance between myself and my parents as I possibly can. I walk as hard and as fast my legs can take me. I don't have an objective, a clear destination in mind. All I know is that I just have to get away. 

Minutes later, I find myself on the steps leading up to the imposing structure of stone that is the Academy. Of course I would find myself here. The Academy is the only place I feel even anything close to happy. It's more of a home to me than my actual home. I suck in a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. 

"The Academy's closed, you oaf." A familiar voice behind me calls out. At the sound of it, I feel the inklings of a smile begin to form on my lips. I turn around. 

Standing at the bottom of the steps behind me is Clove Kentwell. I take her in. I only ever get to see her dressed this way once a year, and she exceeds my expectations each time. She's wearing the same midnight blue dress that she wears every Reaping, the skirt billowing around her legs in the morning breeze. Instead of her usual ponytail, her long dark hair is twisted up into a braided crown around her head. The only thing that's the same is the expression of disappointment and disgust she always wears when she greets me. 

I grin, making my way down the steps to join her. "Seeing as you're also in front of the Academy, that's a lot coming from you, Kentwell." 

"I only happened to pass by here, as a matter of fact. I was just taking a walk. Fancy joining me?" 

I shrug. "Why not?" Then I look around her. "Where's Leo?" I was expecting her younger brother to be with her, especially because it's his first Reaping. 

"I got him checked in first. Didn't want him to tag along and risk seeing your face," She says smoothly, adjusting her hairdo. 

I smile sweetly at her. "Aww, you came to see me?" I cooed, knowing it would annoy her. Sure enough, I am rewarded by her reaction. 

She slides a hairpin out from one of her braids and holds it up to me. "You do know I can find multiple ways to maim you with this, right?" She says coolly, staring daggers at me. 

I steal the pin from between her fingers and wave it under her nose. "I don't doubt it." And I truly don't. I know her well enough now that it would be a bad idea to try and put anything past her. 

She scoffs. "You're all talk but no action. Remember how I stabbed you in the shoulder once?" 

"Hey," I warn, the sarcastic grin slipping from my face. "I told you. We don't talk about that." She smirks in satisfaction, stealing her hairpin back.

Of course. Who could ever forget the time when Clove Kentwell had pounced on me and practically impaled me in the shoulder because she thought I had been bullying her little brother? It was an especially horrible story considering the fact that I hadn't even been bullying the kid. I had just been trying to help him from those insufferable little boys. 

It was also an even more painful story considering the fact that I hadn't been able to do a thing. I just stood there, not even quick enough to react while this tiny thirteen year old girl attacked me. Me. Despite the fact that she knew who I was, the son of two former victors, the Academy's beloved, she hadn't even hesitated in absolutely humiliating me.

I knew I probably should've despised her, should've been out for her blood since then. That was what I might've done if it was anybody else. But for some odd reason, it was different when it was her. She was small, tiny in fact, compared to some of the other kids in the Academy. She looked harmless. If I hadn't experienced her wrath for myself, I would've thought she was one of the weaklings. 

She was quiet. She never boasted, never attracted attention using her voice, or prideful words. Instead, she had drawn all eyes on her with purely the use of her skills. And her spirit. 

I had always been intrigued by her. It had probably started when she was twelve and I was thirteen. She was a training level lower than me, and I had just happened to be there when I witnessed her fight with Tianna La Rue. Or rather, when I witnessed her absolutely destroy Tianna. 

I had been drawn to her ferociousness, her skill, her plain audacity to even do something like that. It was something extremely rare in the Academy. She was either really brave or really stupid. But I had admired that about her.

I had been so tempted to just go up to her right then and there and ask her to be my training partner, but I knew I had to think it through carefully. I needed to know if she was satisfactory. So I had quietly observed her since then, watching her progress during training, watching her interactions with the other kids. She was mostly something of a loner, who preferred to keep to herself. I hadn't really liked that. So I slowly lost interest, started to set my sights on someone else, someone louder and larger and more threatening. 

Until that day she attacked me and stabbed me in the shoulder. 

That was the moment I knew she had to be my training partner, no matter what. I knew it was extremely strange considering how she had nearly done some serious damage to my upper arm, but that was exactly what I needed. Someone deadly and dangerous despite their appearance. Someone so silent and quick they were lethal. Someone cunning and intelligent. Someone with a little bit of a temper, some kind of spark.

So I made it my job to get her promoted so she would be able to be my training partner. 

I still remembered the expression of utmost shock and outrage on her face when she found out that we were each other's new training partners. She had looked mutinous, like she could kill someone. More specifically, me. She trained with a vengeance, taking all of her anger and frustration out on me. Frankly, it only made her perform better, but I wasn't about to tell her that. 

She had some kind of deep hatred for me; no doubt because of the misunderstanding with her brother. I had felt the same way about her. I may have wanted her to be my training partner, but that didn't mean she was anything short of insufferable to me. 

That was the reason why she refused to look at me with anything other than a murderous glare, refused to allow me to call her by her first name. So we called each other using our surnames. Except she never stuck to this agreement. Every time she spoke to me, she addressed me with a creative assortment of curses and insults. 

But then time passed, and we had to spend practically every waking hour together because of training. She grew slightly less spiteful, but I think it was mostly because she was bored of expressing so much rage and loathing towards me. 

The situation with her brother might have also been a part of it too. It took an agonizing amount of time, days and months and years of trying to convince her that I hadn't hurt her brother, was trying to help him in fact. But to no avail. 

But slowly, she eventually started to believe me until one day where everything just... stopped. She had never said anything outright, but I think that was when she finally believed me. Started liking me, in fact. Or as close to like as I could possibly get.

Gradually, she began to let her guard down around me. The snarky remarks and glares were still there. Of course, because it was Clove. But there had been a slight, yet significant shift between us. Now that she had let that grudge against me die, she was no longer so aggressive, in or outside of the Academy. We performed exceptionally well together, better than before in fact, when we were both constantly at each other's throats. Our dynamic had improved; we knew each other's stance and techniques. We moved so seamlessly together, like a well-oiled machine. 

Things had changed outside of the Academy as well. She became somewhat warmer to me. We chatted together almost all the time. We even went as far as exchanging jokes and witty banter. Inseparable inside both the Academy and out. The nicknames we had given each other and the lighthearted insults we threw at each other that we never truly meant, those had stuck.

But what we meant to each other had changed. She wasn't just a training partner to me, and I knew I wasn't just that to her either. We became each other's closest friends, each other's most trusted confidantes. And to me, she was the only person I could be myself around despite the fact that I didn't even know who I even was. All I knew was that I didn't have to hide anything from her. All of my secrets and all the raw, messed up parts of myself. She knew all of it, and I never once minded. 

Yes, the Academy had been my home. Still was. But it had always come in second to Clove. I had never admitted it, nor would I ever, but to me, she was my home. My safe place. And she still is now. Even though, maybe, I wasn't hers. 

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PERIOD! this shit took me FOREVER to write. but anyway hope you enjoyed. new chapter coming out soon :)


	7. SIX

Cato and I spend the next few minutes wandering aimlessly around District 2. We're quiet, as we usually are on walks like these, just soaking up each other's presence, never feeling the need to fill the silence between us with meaningless words in an attempt to pass the time. 

But today, there's something different about Cato's silence. I glance up at him from the corner of my eye. He's walking the way you would expect a son of two victors to walk; his chest puffed out and his chin upturned like always. But there's something in his expression that makes me uneasy. His eyes are clouded over with fury, replacing his usual look of arrogance. No doubt he's thinking of his parents again. 

Cato Hadley. Though he had the fortune to be born into a family of victors, he also had the misfortune to be born to two of the world's worst people. Jaelyn and Fergus Hadley had no shortage of admirers from the Capitol and their very own district. But would this still be the case if the public ever knew about the way they had treated their son? Most likely, nothing would change because of how wealthy and famous they were. It was sickening to think about. 

I didn't know the full extent of their cruelty. No one except Cato would never truly know. But I certainly knew enough to make me despise them. Rage bubbles up inside me. I feel around for the comforting metal feel of my knives, then remember that they are lying safely at the bottom of my dresser drawers at home. Instead, I imagine Jaelyn and Fergus Hadley as my knife-throwing targets at the Academy in an attempt to calm myself down. 

"You scared for the Reaping or something?" I snap out of my reverie at the sound of Cato laughing at me. His eyebrows are raised and his lip curled upwards in a playful smirk.

I smile coolly at him. "What for? I have two more years. I'll save my fear for when I actually get to volunteer." Cato knows damn well that I would sooner die in the arena then ever be fearful of the Games. I have no reason to fear it. It's what we were born to do. It's what all of us desire, isn't it? The pure thrill of being granted the opportunity of glory and riches. 

Well except for kids like Leo, maybe. My heart squeezes painfully as I remember him, trapped inside that Square among thousands of other kids, far more brutal than he will ever be in his entire lifetime. Maybe there is a tiny portion of me that does feel scared. Not for myself, but for what happens to my siblings when I finally get the opportunity to be reaped. For what happens to them if they get reaped. 

I pinch myself. Too many emotions for one day, Clove, and the Reaping hasn't even begun yet, I chide myself. 

We circle back around the main streets, which are slowly emptying of people, and stop at the entrance of the Square to get checked in. We get our fingers pricked and we're granted entry. 

I'm about to head towards my assigned spot, the roped off pen for the sixteen year old girls, when I feel a hand on my arm pulling me back. Cato. I shrug him off of me. Him and I both know that I don't enjoy skin-to-skin contact except if it's necessary for training.

He clears his throat. "Sorry." 

"Why'd you pull me back for?" I ask distractedly. I stand on my tiptoes, craning my neck over the sea of people for a glance of Leo. He's too small and too far away for me to see him. I give up and turn my attention back to Cato. 

"Good luck for the Reaping, Kentwell." He grins at me. It's an old inside joke of ours. Every Reaping since we'd met, we'd wish each other good luck, knowing full well we weren't going to be participating in the Games until we were eighteen. 

I snort and bow so low that Cato knows I'm mocking him. "May the odds be ever in your favour, Hadley." He laughs at me, and I turn away from him, beginning to make my way to the sectioned off area for the sixteen year old girls. 

"I'll see you tonight. Don't be late," Cato says behind me, referring to another one of our late night walks. 

I snicker. "Since when have I ever been?" 

I join the rest of the girls my age. I stand on my tiptoes and begin to look over the sea of heads again to find Leo. There he is, standing amidst the twelve year old boys, standing stock-still, his face frozen in terror and anticipation. My chest gives another painful squeeze. 

I debate on whether or not it would be a good idea to hurry across the Square to him and give him one last reassurance before the Reaping starts, but just then, the mic squeals out with a burst of static and a loud, shrill voice echoes throughout the Square. 

"Welcome, citizens of Panem, to District Two's Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games!" 

Monique Cleroux exclaims cheerily as she comes tottering onto the stage of the Justice Building in her four-inch heels. I suppress a smile. Monique has got to be one of my favourite escorts from the Capitol.

Her inky purple hair spills out over her shoulders in a glossy, unbroken sheet, framing the sides of her face. Her smooth dark skin is patterned with intricate golden tattoos that match the golden tresses of silk that swirl around her hips. 

Her presence manages to rouse raucous cheers and applause from the crowd. She beams delightedly at our reactions, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. She raises her arms in greeting, and a myriad of golden bangles jangles along to the sound of our cheers. 

"Now, in the past 73 Hunger Games, we have had the pleasure of having many victors to represent District Two," She continues. The crowd seems to know where this is going, and their cheers grow alarmingly louder. "With us today, are our very own victors from District Two!" She announces. 

The crowd erupts in screams and whoops as our existing victors ascend the stage in a line according to the Hunger Games they had played in and won. I watch in awe. 

Charles Hathaway, our oldest existing victor. Ewan Seymour. Lilith Harlow, who had the highest kill streak of fifteen tributes in all of Hunger Games history. Brutus Gunn. Jaelyn and Fergus Hadley. I stare daggers at them as they appear. Alvaro Morgenstern, and lastly, Enobaria Golding. They take their seats on the chairs that are placed at the centre of the stage. 

The crowd is going wild, and it takes some time before Monique can coax them back into attentiveness. 

She continues rambling on about what an honour it is to have the victors here with us today, and about how exciting of an occasion today is. Then she shows us the same video she shows every year, about the Dark Days and the uprising and how the Games came about. 

I'm not listening and I doubt anyone else is, due to the sheer amount of times we've watched this same video before. I decide to do things to pass the time. Adjust my braids into the closest thing to perfection as I can get. Smooth the wrinkles from my dress. Admire Lilith and Enobaria on the stage. 

Finally, President Snow's booming voice ceases and the audience gives another enthusiastic round of applause. I join in a little too late. I'm practically bouncing on the balls of my feet with how I excited I am. 

When Monique crosses the stage towards the enormous glass bowls which hold the tiny envelopes with all of our names on it, I almost emit a squeak of delight. Oh God, I seriously hope that this year's tributes can be counted on. If I can't join for the time being, I hope the blood our tributes would soon be spilling would compensate for it. 

"Ladies first!" Monique says cheerfully. I watch as her hand enters the glass bowl and brushes against the thousands of slips of paper inside, until her long fingers enclose around a single envelope. I watch with bated breath as she unfolds it. I'm practically vibrating with exhilaration.

"Clove Kentwell!"

I feel like I've just been electrocuted. She said my name. I'm not even eighteen yet. And I'm going to the Games. I think I'm going to scream out in pure ecstasy, but my voice is trapped in the depths of my throat. I stand rooted to the ground, unable to step forward. I have to move. I have to go. This was what I was born to do. This was what I had been training for for years. 

"I volunteer!" 

I whip around so fast I think I almost sprain my neck. A girl with a familiar head of fiery red hair steps out from the pen of eighteen year olds behind me, beginning to make her way towards the stage. Her eyes, which are fixated on me, are shining with malice. Tianna La Rue. 

"Oh no you don't," I growl. I push past the other girls next to me with as much force as I can muster, fling back the rope that traps me among them, and sprint towards Tianna. 

I don't think, just act. I swing my arm and my fist collides with her jaw. Hard. I hear a satisfying crunch before she aims another punch at me. I duck, her fist a mere centimetre away from my head. And then I go in, jabbing her stomach with my elbow. All the breath is knocked out of her. She stumbles backward and I throw another punch. 

"Too slow." I grin. 

This one lands right smack in the centre of her face, breaking her nose. 

Collective gasps and cheers sound from the crowd. They love it when this happens. I can't blame them. My heart is pounding in my ears and I'm just beginning to slide my hairpin out from my braids to deliver the final blow, when I'm intercepted by the Peacekeepers. 

"That's enough, Miss," One of them intones. Behind them, Tianna is being helped up by a few other Peacekeepers. Her curls are now an unruly bird's nest around her shoulders and blood is steadily trickling from her nose and staining the front of her frilly pink dress. I smile sweetly at her. That dress never quite went with her hair anyway. 

Slowly, I make my way up the stage. The crowd is going absolutely crazy, their clapping and cheering swelling in my ears, becoming one with my heartbeat which is pounding away in my chest. 

I smooth out my dress, adjust my crown of braids. A smile crosses my lips as I stare out at the people below me, relishing in the moment. This is what I had been waiting my entire life for. Years of training and hard work, and all of that would soon pay off. Victory would soon be mine. I deserve this. 

"Oh, how very exciting that was! You are a very impressive young woman, Clove!" Monique trills. 

"Thank you," I say calmly. 

You haven't even seen the best of me yet, I think. Wait till the arena, Monique. Just wait and see. 

"Now, time for the gentlemen!" She announces as she heads over to the other glass bowl. A hush falls over the crowd. 

I'm too busy savouring in this moment that I don't even register the name that comes out of Monique Cleroux's mouth. 

"Leonardo Kentwell!"


	8. SEVEN

CLOVE KENTWELL

Leonardo Kentwell. 

The name echoes around in my brain repeatedly even though it has only been spoken once. Lightning crackles through my veins. Time seems to slow down and the people standing below me blur out of focus. 

No. No. This can't be happening. His name was one in thousands. Thousands. It shouldn't even have been possible. Yet there he is. Leo, my precious little brother, the kindest, sweetest, most innocent person I had the blessing of being related to, unsteadily making his way up to the steps. He looks smaller and weaker than ever, his shoulders curled forward, terror apparent in his eyes. A strong gust of wind would be able to knock him off balance. 

No. Not Leo. Anyone but him. I had spent half of my life caring for him and fighting to keep him alive after losing everything. And in a mere matter of days, he would be thrown into an arena with twenty-three other tributes to fight to the death. One of those tributes being his big sister, who had struggled so hard to keep him safe, to keep him alive. This had to be some kind of cruel joke the universe was playing on us. 

I watch in frozen horror as my little brother slowly ascends the stone steps of the stage. The Square is pin-drop silent. My stomach roils, threatening to spill its contents out in front of all of Panem to see. I gaze out at the crowd in horror. Why was no one volunteering? That was what we are all trained to do, right? I dig my fingernails deep into my palm so hard I draw blood. It's all I can do to keep myself from going hysterical. Volunteer, please. Please, let someone volunteer. 

Leo is on the stage now. He takes slow, tremulous steps to the space right beside me. An imaginary vice wraps itself around my throat, choking me, suffocating me. This has to be some kind of nightmare. No, no, no, no, no. Wake up Clove. Wake up. No. Wake up Clove! 

"I volunteer!" 

My eyes fly open. Relief floods through me. Sweet, sweet relief. I almost want to collapse onto the ground and start sobbing in happiness. Until I see who has volunteered. 

Standing in the very centre of the Square, his blond hair glowing golden in the sunlight, is District Two's one and only, Cato Hadley. The Square remains silent. No one else volunteers against him. No surprises there. You would have to be either extremely idiotic or extremely courageous to try and start a fight with Cato Hadley. I almost wish someone would. But it's either him or Leo. 

Cato takes Leo's place. Leo turns to face me, his eyes brimming with tears. I force a lump back down my throat and take a deep breath. No tears, Clove. "Go find Leanore," I mouth. Slowly, Leo nods and teeters back down the steps where he's intercepted by a pair of Peacekeepers. 

"And there we have them! District Two's very own tributes for the 74th annual Hunger Games!" Monique declares with a flourish of her hand. The crowd erupts in applause. They approve. Of course they do. The beloved son of two past victors who has made his power clear for everyone to see. The small, yet deadly girl who is famous for her talent with knives. Yes, they have a good chance of having a victor this year. 

"Shake hands," Monique tells us over the roars of the crowd. 

So we do. My eyes meet his. The eyes of my best friend. My closest, most trusted confidante. My training partner, who knows my every move, my every attack like it is his own. The eyes of the boy that I am going to have to kill. 

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We are led down the winding halls of the Justice Building and into separate rooms where we get to say our final goodbyes to our families. I try not to think too much about how eerily similar the room I'm in is to the office I was in on the day my parents were killed. Thankfully, I don't get too much time to dwell on this, because a few moments later, the door flies open and Leo and Ember dash in and fling themselves onto me. 

Leo wraps his arms tightly around my waist, bawling his eyes out. His tiny body is heaving with violent sobs. To my horror, I feel pressure building behind my eyes. No tears, Clove, I remind myself. Ember stands there, centimetres away from me, eyes shining with tears.

I expected Leo's reaction, but not Ember's. I thought that she would've been happy for me. Excited, even, at the prospect of me being granted this amazing opportunity to bring glory and riches back home. But then I remember. She's only nine, and I'm all she has. Maybe a part of her still is frightened for me. 

I pull Leo away from me and smile reassuringly at the both of them. "Don't cry! What are you crying about, huh?" I pretend to scold them. "Do you not think I can win?" 

Ember knocks Leo in the shoulder. "See what I told you? Clove can win. Have you even seen her throw a knife?" She furiously wipes away the wetness on her cheeks. 

"Exactly!" I exclaim, even though deep down I feel the strange urge to cry. "Have some faith in your sister, will you?" 

Ember drops her hands and stares intently at me. "You have to win, Clove. You have to," She says seriously. 

I nod. "Of course I will. It's what I was born to do." I'm not joking around anymore. 

Then I lean forward and start talking fast. "Listen to me. I promise you, I will win. And when I win, we'll get to live in the Victors' Village and be so filthy rich and famous that we won't ever have to go hungry ever again. You hear me?" 

They both nod their heads rapidly, desperate to cling onto my words. The Peacekeepers are at the door, announcing the presence of another person who has come to see me. 

Leo's beginning to cry again. "Don't worry about me. I'll be perfectly fine." Another knock on the door. "I love you guys so much," I Whisper. And just like that, they're gone. 

To my surprise, the next person who has come to see me is Leanore. Her usual self is gone, replaced with a woman who is alert and more awake than she has ever been in eight years. She briskly walks into the room, her eyes wide as she kneels down in front of me. She grabs my hand and presses something into my palm. 

Speechless, I look at what she has given me. There, is a thin silver necklace with a deep blue gem in the very centre of it, nearly as small as a speck of dust. 

I open my mouth to ask what it is but she cuts me off before I even get to speak the words. "Each tribute gets to bring a token from home. Take this with you. It used to belong to your mother." She offers no other explanation. When she stops talking, I know that it's my turn. 

I reach forward and grasp her shoulders tightly the way I did this morning. "Since you're suddenly so alert now, listen to me." I fix her with a glare so intense that her urgent, brisk demeanour melts away and her old self reappears. I shake her as if to wake her from a deep sleep. I speak fast, so fast that I don't allow her any space to interrupt me. 

"You need to step up now. I've been doing your job for eight years, and you need to take some kind of responsibility. I don't care how sick you are; you can't afford it. Leo and Ember are counting on you, Leanore. This time I'm not going to be around to take over for you. So don't let them down. Don't abandon them the way you did. Or else you'll have to answer to me." 

Leanore's eyes are bulging from their sockets and she doesn't utter a word. This only enrages me further. I shake her even harder. "Promise me. Promise me, Leanore!" My voice rises to an angry pitch. 

She gives me a shaky nod. "I promise." Her voice is barely above a whisper. I then lapse into a series of instructions, talking fast so that we don't run short of time. 

They are to be extremely careful with the tessera and the sum of money provided to them from when Ember enlisted in the Academy. Leanore is to get a job, any kind of job would do, just as long as it kept them alive and well until I won the Games. After that, they won't have much to worry about. Leo and Ember have to have enough to eat every day, and they are to be safe and well taken care of. 

All too soon, the Peacekeepers rap loudly on the door, signalling that my allocated hour to say my goodbyes is up. Leanore gets up and is halfway out the door when I say, "Thank you for the necklace." 

She pauses at the doorway before nodding stiffly, her back turned to me. "It's the least I can do." And then she's whisked away. 

In the coach ride to the train station, Cato and I are forced to sit right next to each other. However, he hardly even seems to notice my presence. His eyebrows are knitted together and his eyes are foggy with the same look of anger he'd had this morning too. My stomach drops. His parents. What had happened to him in that allotted hour to say our goodbyes? I discreetly search Cato for any sign of what had happened. Bruises or cuts. But I'm met with nothing. He looks the same as always. 

I'm tempted to nudge him, start talking to him like I usually do when he goes into a stupor like this. But I can't bring myself to. I'm still reeling from what had just happened. How my little brother had gotten reaped alongside with me. How Cato Hadley had lunged forward to take his place. And how now I'm going to have to kill my best and only friend. 

Why? Why Cato? Why Leo? Why had Cato volunteered like that? Someone else, some eighteen year old probably would've volunteered if Cato hadn't gotten there first. Then we wouldn't have to be stuck in this awful position. 

But even then, I was doubtful. I recalled the dead quiet of the Square that seemed to stretch out into eternity as Leo made his way on the stage. Maybe nobody else would've volunteered. Maybe I should be thankful to Cato. But no matter how hard I try, the gratitude doesn't come. Because now I'm going to have to kill him. Thirteen year old me probably would've been delighted. Except things were different now. 

My mind is spinning and my stomach is doing cartwheels inside of me so I lean back and close my eyes, trying to forget that I even exist. I let my hand tighten around my mother's necklace, imagining her presence right next to me. Her voice whispering gently in my ear. I think of Leo and Ember and Leanore's promise and I hope that these things will give me temporary solace. That they will serve as a reminder as to why I am here.   
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this one's a little short lol but dw!! the next chapter's coming out really soon :)


	9. EIGHT

CLOVE KENTWELL 

We reach the train station after what feels like hours. It's swarming with bright, flashing lights and countless cameras that are all aimed at Cato and I as Monique leads us out of the coach and onto the train bringing us to the Capitol. All I want is some peace and quiet alone after all the activity we had experienced so far. And thankfully, that's what I get. 

As soon as we board the train and it speeds away from the station, I steal away to one of the compartments that's assigned to be my living space for the time being. I want to hurl myself into the bed and fall asleep almost immediately but that plan is botched as soon as I open the door. 

In front of me, is the most beautiful room that I have ever laid my eyes on. It's about twice as huge as my room back at home, and an infinite times fancier. It's fully equipped with a dressing area, private bathroom, and dresser drawers spilling over with fine clothes and all kinds of high-tech gadgets and devices that would be impossible to find back at home. 

I spend the rest of the afternoon just exploring before finally, Monique knocks on the door and collects me for dinner. I follow Monique out of my private chambers, down the hallway, and into the separate dining compartment. The second I catch a glimpse of the dinner table, my eyes widen. 

The table is laden with a variety of dishes. Creamy, carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, a tureen of fresh fruit, a frosted strawberry cake. My mouth waters and my stomach gives an impatient growl. 

I'm well aware that I belong to one of the richest districts in the entirety of Panem, and yet I can't pretend that I hadn't grown up in the more impoverished part of the district, where my neighbours and I never got as much to eat as the rest of the population of Two. 

As soon as I take a seat, I start stuffing myself like there's no tomorrow. I try to demonstrate some level of self-restraint, but it's almost impossible. I had never eaten food as delicious as whatever I was shoveling in my mouth now. Each dish brings tears to my eyes. 

Plus, mealtimes here and at the Capitol will probably be my only opportunities to put on some weight before we go into the arena. The best thing I can do is to take advantage of that. 

My eyes dart around the table as I eat. It's empty except for Cato, Monique and myself. I notice that there's one other unoccupied space. I force myself to swallow a particularly large lamb chop. I gesture to the empty seat. "Who is this reserved for?" 

Monique beams at us. "I'm so glad you asked!" She chirps. She dramatically turns her head to the side and calls out in a singsong voice, "Enobaria!" 

My jaw drops, and so does my fork, which clatters against my plate. Cato starts choking on his food, coughing and hacking loudly just as Enobaria Golding sweeps into the room. I watch, stunned as she takes her place in between Cato and I. 

"Did we seriously have to make such a dramatic entrance, Monique?" Enobaria asks dryly. 

She looks like an entirely different person. Her long, dark hair is free from its usual high ponytail down her back and tumbles loosely over her shoulders. Instead of the shimmering silver dress she had donned at today's Reaping, she was now wearing a loose pair of cotton pants and a plain blouse. Her face was wiped clean of any trace of makeup, making her appear younger than she actually is. Younger, and a lot more exhausted. 

But she still manages to carry the aura of arrogance and self-assurance the public knows her to have. The aura of a victor. 

Monique laughs good-naturedly. "Oh, but of course! You are a victor after all!" She thumps a choking Cato on the back a few times. "There, there. It would be such a shame if you died before the Games because of a lamb chop," She coos. 

"Why are you both so shocked for?" Enobaria rolls her eyes. "You already knew you were going to have former victors as your mentors. What's the big deal?" She pours herself a glass of wine and tips all of its contents down her throat in half a second. Meanwhile, Cato is chugging water, his face a ruddy shade of red. 

"We knew that. We just didn't expect to get the best one as our mentor," I blurt out before I can even think twice about my words. Enobaria stares at me for a second before bursting into laughter. I catch sight of her fangs, which are inlaid with gold. "That's sweet." 

Cato sets his glass of water down with a thud. He clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. "Hold on. You said mentors. Plural. Who's the other one?" I knew he wasn't just asking out of plain curiosity. 

Enobaria chuckles. "Hoping it's one of your parents, huh, Hadley?" 

I catch Cato's eye and I know we're both thinking the same exact thing. Quite the opposite actually. 

"Well, sorry to tell you. It's not. Your other mentor is Alvaro Morgenstern. He's not here right now because he doesn't eat dinner. Also because he's probably clocked out in his room as we speak," Enobaria continues. 

I can almost see Cato's shoulders sag in relief. 

Enobaria refills her glass and gulps its contents down without hesitation. Cato and I exchange wary looks across the table. Was she a drunkard or something? I silently hope that she isn't another Haymitch Abernathy from District 12. That man is a dumpster fire. But even if we did happen to get a pair of dumpster fires for mentors this year, I wouldn't let that stop me from winning. 

Enobaria seems to read our thoughts, because she erupts into another fit of laughter. "Don't worry. I'm not always like this." She heaves a sigh. "But sometimes we victors? We need to let loose a little bit like everyone else." 

Her eyes dart from Cato to me and then back to Cato as she gets up from her chair. "I'll see you two tomorrow morning. Hopefully Alvaro and I will be more helpful to you by then." And she disappears wordlessly back down the hallway of the train, wine glass in hand. 

My appetite has vanished. So has Cato's, because he pushes away his unfinished plate of food. Monique sighs apologetically, looking thoroughly dismayed. "I'm terribly sorry about that. I...It's just—" 

"It's okay," Cato says curtly. And the topic about our mentors is dismissed. Although not quite entirely banished from my mind. As Monique leads us to another compartment to watch a recap of the Reapings across Panem, I can't stop thinking about our mentors. 

Two of the best, most well-known victors from Two. They were supposed to be my ticket to victory. And the both of them couldn't even bother talking to us properly? What an absolute let-down. After all those years of admiring them and looking up to them...

It was strange, though. How dazed and...out of it they seemed to be. One of them pretty much drunken out of her mind. The other one too far gone to even make an appearance. Completely at odds with how they were like onstage during the Reaping, during the coach ride to the train station. 

Victors were not supposed to be like that. There was a certain standard expected of them. And yet... I suddenly remembered Fergus and Jaelyn Hadley and their overflowing supply of admirers from the Capitol despite the fact that they were horrible people, horrible parents. Cato Hadley was living proof of that. 

Clearly, victors were people too, just like what Enobaria had said earlier. And just like everybody else, they kept secrets. 

All thoughts of victors and mentors are erased abruptly from my mind as the television screen in front of us flickers to life. Cato nudges me lightly. "You should pay attention, Kentwell. See our competition." 

We. As if we're united. As if we are on the same team. As if we aren't about to have to kill each other. But I just nod and turn my attention towards the screen, observing the faces of the tributes that we're going to have to face. Or rather, the tributes that are going to have to face us. 

An admittedly pretty blonde girl from One who practically skips out onto the stage when her name gets called.   
A tall, slender girl from Four with waist-length hair. When the camera does a close-up on her, I see that the pupils of her eyes are pure black.   
A girl from Five with smooth red hair that's awfully similar to Tianna La Rue's.   
A boy from Ten with a crippled leg.   
A hulking boy with dark skin from Eleven, who I see has piqued Cato's interest as well.   
His district partner, a tiny wisp of a girl with the same dark skin and brown eyes. 

No one else besides Cato has volunteered. Up until we reach Twelve. We watch a pitiful twelve-year old girl shakily make her way up to the stage before getting almost immediately replaced by an older girl who desperately steps up to volunteer; dark hair, dark eyes and a stick-thin figure. 

The sight of her throws me off and I fumble around for the remote and switch the television off. I silently get up from my perch on the couch and leave the compartment. Cato and Monique's eyes trail after me, mystified. 

"Kentwell. Hey!" Cato's voice rings out behind me, but I don't stop. 

I hurry into my own compartment and slam its door shut behind me. I sink down to the floor, which is rumbling with the movement of the train. I grasp at my neck, where my mother's locket hangs. I press my fingers hard against the cool silver chain and shut my eyes.

That girl from Twelve. I would never admit it out loud, but she reminded me of myself. A little bit too much of myself. The same brown hair. The same figure; both of us emaciated, evident in both of our bodies and faces that we'd grown up with not much to eat. And most hauntingly of all, the same way we had both willingly risked our lives for our younger siblings even if it meant possibly losing ours, even if we had done it in different ways.

I thump the back of my head against the door, in an attempt to eliminate these thoughts from my brain. No. No, I was not like some poor, starving girl from the worst district in Panem. For one, she wouldn't stand a chance in the Games. She would never make it out of that arena alive. Just like the rest of them wouldn't. I would make sure of it. 

I would be the one to emerge triumphant. Forget the girl from Twelve and her sister. Forget the little girl from Eleven. Forget Cato, even. Forget everyone else. I had no time to think of the other tributes. I came here to win. 

I let the thought comfort me as I doze off on the floor, letting the steady movement of the train lull me to sleep.


	10. NINE

CLOVE KENTWELL

I wake to the sound of incessant knocking on my compartment door. 

"Clove, honey! It's time for breakfast!" Monique's voice chirps from outside. I listen to her footsteps clack loudly away as she continues down the hallway of the train, probably on her way to wake Cato next. 

God, did all these Capitol escorts have to undergo some kind of intensive training? They had to, right? There was no way in hell people were just naturally that cheerful all the time. I catch a glimpse of the early morning sunlight beginning to trickle into my compartment through the cracks in the blinds. Especially in the wee hours of the morning. 

I push myself off the floor of the train with a low groan. My neck and shoulders scream in pain. I wince as my eyes land on the luxurious bed in the middle of the compartment. It's invitingly soft covers and fluffy pillows are still immaculately made up, demanding to be slept in.

The bed was right there, Clove, and you really had to fall asleep on the floor? You couldn't have just dragged yourself onto the bed or something? Unbelievable. 

I decide to take a hot bath, in hopes that it will do something to help sooth my sore muscles. I crawl on all fours into my private bathroom, strip off my Reaping dress from yesterday, and climb into the bathtub. 

It takes me some time to get actually bathe though, because there are so many little knobs and buttons and faucets on the walls and in the tub that I don't know what to do. 

I end up almost drowning in a pool of frothy, multicoloured bubbles and getting practically scalded with piping hot water. It's alright though, I guess. At least I'll smell good. And my muscles don't ache as much anymore. 

I pat myself dry with a towel and rummage through my dresser drawers outside for clothes—all Capitol issued, of course. I decide upon a plain burgundy coloured shirt and a simple pair of trousers. I scoop my still-damp hair into a hasty high ponytail at the back of my head and hurry outside into the dining compartment. 

Seated around the table are Cato and Monique. No sign of our mentors yet.

As expected, the table is heavy with an assortment of dishes. My stomach gives a slight growl at the sight of them—a tureen of fresh fruit, a basket brimming with rolls, plates piled high with fried eggs and slices of meat that smell heavenly and pitchers filled with orange juice. 

Mouth watering, I drop into the seat next to Cato, completely forgetting about the awkwardness between us from yesterday's Reaping situation. I'm tempted to get up and sit next to Monique instead, but I figure that might be a little too obvious. So I play it off and just stuff myself instead, and soon I forget about Cato and our situation. 

Apparently, Cato doesn't seem to care about it at the moment either, because he's shovelling breakfast down his throat at top speed. You would think that at least he would show a little bit more self-control considering the fact that he's grown up with enough to eat. But I guess even the wealthiest of us still refuse to turn down anything from the Capitol. Especially the food. 

I pause, swallowing the last of my roll. "Careful there, Hadley. We don't want you choking again." I snort at the memory of him red-faced and coughing his lungs out at dinner yesterday when Enobaria showed up. 

He rolls his eyes at me. "Look who's talking, Kentwell." We laugh, and for a moment, the tension between us melts away. 

"Aw, look at them, having a fun little bonding session."

Cato and I look up at the sound of this new voice. Standing in front of us, are our mentors, Enobaria Golding and Alvaro Morgenstern. I'm satisfied to see that they're in a much better state than yesterday. 

Enobaria's clear-eyed and upright, thankfully. Her dark locks are smoothed into an immaculate knot at the top of her head. Her face is coated with a fresh layer of makeup. She is no longer drunken and dazed, much to my everlasting relief. 

Since Alvaro hadn't even made an appearance at dinner last night, it's the first time we're seeing him close-up, not counting the times on television or in the Square during each Reaping. His shock of jet-black hair is slicked back with copious amounts of gel and his steely grey eyes are looking upon Cato and I with dry amusement. He, too, seems sober. 

Enobaria grins as she takes a seat opposite us, showing off her fangs. "How wholesome."

The smile drops from Cato's face and is replaced by an expression of cool seriousness, almost bordering on anger. "Wholesome, huh? That's new. Maybe it should be our approach to the Games," He sneers. 

I can tell he doesn't appreciate the stunt they pulled last night. I'm not very pleased either. Enobaria's inebriated self and Alvaro's absence are both thinly veiled acts of incompetence to us. We both came here to win, and they were entrusted with the responsibility of guiding us to that path to victory. After all, they themselves were victors. And one of us will soon be one too. There is no time to waste. We can't afford to lose even one dinner. But that dinner has already been lost. 

I nod diplomatically. "District Two: Go where the winners go—Wholesome!" I take a sip of orange juice. "It has a nice ring to it. I say we do it." 

"Oh, that is adorable!" Monique comments, completely missing the sarcasm that drips from my voice. I'm seriously wondering why I ever thought she was my favourite Capitol escort. 

Cato's lips are pressed tightly together, trying to suppress his laughter. Alvaro's face remains stony and impassive, clearly unimpressed. Enobaria stares at me thoughtfully. After a beat, she says, "Maybe that approach could work for you." She looks pointedly at me. "Not the both of you though." 

I scowl. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

Enobaria doesn't look like she's kidding. "We could play up that innocent little girl act for you. A little similar to what Johanna Mason did when she won her Games." 

I stare at her in uncomprehending disbelief. "What makes you think that's a good idea? No one'll buy that. Everyone's probably seen my Reaping video and how I beat the hell out of that girl." 

Enobaria shrugs nonchalantly. "It was just an idea." She smiles suddenly, and she gestures at me. "I mean, look. You're as adorable as a chihuahua!" 

That's it. I can't believe these are my mentors. I can't believe these are victors. I've had enough. 

I reach for my butter knife and without hesitation, throw it in Enobaria's direction. I make sure it deliberately misses her by inches. My goal isn't to kill her. Thankfully, I'm always precise when I throw. The knife whizzes past the side of her head, barely missing the top of her ear. It lodges in the wall directly behind her before clattering loudly to the ground. 

Monique shrieks in horror. I can feel Cato's and Alvaro's eyes trained on me. But I don't pay them any mind. I stare unblinkingly at Enobaria. She doesn't even flinch. 

"I would be impressed if I hadn't seen that coming," She says coolly. 

I clench my fists beneath the table. This woman is so aggravating. With a start, I realise she reminds me of myself. Her snarky remarks, cynical attitude. I remember watching her tear a man's throat out with her teeth. Her bloodlust too, although maybe not to that extent. Maybe she is indeed the perfect fit to be my mentor.

"What can the both of you do? Like actually?" Alvaro rasps out, leaning in closer to Cato and I, surprising us. He's been almost completely silent up until now. He nods at Cato, signalling for him to start the ball rolling. "And don't say 'everything'. I hate it when tributes do that."

Cato starts, with his usual air of confidence. "I'm really good with swords. Spears and axes, too. Hand to hand combat, obviously." 

I stifle a laugh. Combat isn't quite the word for it. He could easily just lunge forward and snap someone's neck with his bare hands if he wanted to. I wouldn't call that combat. 

"What about knives?" Alvaro questions. 

"I'm pretty good." Then he turns to look directly at me. "Not as great as Clove is, though." 

This comment sends a hot rush of pleasure through me, but I don't let it show. "He's right," I reply.

"I'm pretty sure we all know that. We saw you almost slice your mentor's ear off," Alvaro says. 

Enobaria scoffs, shooting him a dirty look. "I would not allow anyone to almost slice my ear off, and that includes her. You of all people should know that," She says coldly, viciously spearing a piece of meat with her fork. 

"Good, good. We can work with that," Alvaro continues approvingly as if Enobaria had not spoken. He turns to me next. "What about you? What are you good at, besides knives?" 

"I'm good with daggers and smaller blades because of my size. I can work with swords too, but knives are really my specialty." 

Alvaro seems to think long and hard about this. His eyes roam over Cato and me, sizing us up. Finally he speaks. "We got a pair of opposites here." 

A pair? This unsettles me, and it must have some effect on Cato too, because he's frowning and is now extremely interested in the grease coating his plate. 

We aren't a pair. The way Alvaro says it sounds like he's presenting us as a team. Which we aren't. No one is ever truly a team in these Games. And as much as I want to be a team with Cato, like always, it's not something I can afford. We can't be friends, we can't be a team, we can't be training partners here. Because no matter how strong the friendship we've forged back home is, we can't let that friendship get in the way of victory. No matter what, we're going to have to kill each other if we want to take the crown for ourselves. 

Alvaro must sense our unease, because he rolls his eyes at us. "Please. Why the long faces? Don't act like you don't know that Districts One, Two and Four always band together during the Games."

It's true. Even before the Games begin, even before the annual Reaping, there has always been an unspoken alliance between the tributes from Districts 1,2 and 4. We always band together during the Games. But like every alliance in the Games, we turn on each other once it's only the few of us left. Alliances never truly matter in the end. Not if you want to win.

Monique suddenly gets up from her seat, her chair squeaking against the hardwood floors. She peers out through the windows of the train and gasps. "We're arriving at the Capitol soon!" She exclaims, positively brimming with excitement. 

Our mentors get up. "We'll continue this at dinner later. You only have about five minutes before we arrive, so I suggest you do whatever you need to do now," Alvaro says before disappearing down the hall and into his compartment. 

"What will we be doing once we arrive?" I ask Enobaria. 

She winks and flashes me a smile. It would be a very warm and charming gesture if she wasn't Enobaria Golding, and if she didn't have those teeth. And if she didn't have that almost evil gleam in her eyes. 

"You'll see." She stalks away from the dining table. "Have fun. It's going to be hell," She calls over her shoulder, cackling.


	11. TEN

CLOVE KENTWELL

Enobaria was right. This is indeed hell. I'm laying on a cold metal table, stark naked, with a glaring fluorescent light shining straight into my eyes. 

"You're almost there, sweetie," A woman named Antonia from my prep team coos into my ear, as she rips another waxing strip off of my bare thigh. I resist the urge to throw something at her. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth. 

I've experienced things way worse than this—broken bones, bruises, cuts and wounds—and yet, I can barely stand this. I think it's mostly because of the fact that it's just so new to me. I've never had to be waxed before. I've never been familiar with the prickly, burning feeling that's spreading across my skin right now. I feel like a bird being plucked of its feathers. I can't take it anymore. I roughly pull away from Antonia's touch. 

"God, is this really necessary?" I growl gripping the thin wax sheet underneath me. 

"Now, now, there's no need to be unpleasant," Another woman called Marilla from my prep team clucks disapprovingly. 

"It's just—" I sigh agitatedly. All I want is to be in the Capitol's training centre, actually training for the Games. At least that will be more useful than being waxed. "I don't get why this is necessary," I say coldly. 

A man named Felix shakes his head patronisingly. I want to smack him across the face. "See, we need to pretty you up for tonight's tribute parade. You know about that, right?" He says gently, as if he's talking to a little child who can't quite understand words yet.

I crumple the wax sheet harshly between my fingers and fix him with my sharpest glare. "I'm not an airhead. I know what it is. I just don't see why it's necessary. People from the Capitol aren't gonna see my bare legs close-up, are they?" I snarl. 

"Alright, that will be enough." A voice rings out from the opposite end of the room. We all fall silent and our eyes turn in the voice's direction. 

Standing there is a young woman, probably only in her late twenties. She looks just like a Capitol woman would look like, surgically altered, artificially beautified. But in a very different way. She doesn't have Antonia's vivid pink hair and elaborate tattoos, or Felix's eyes that make him look like a cat, or Marilla's red-tinged skin. 

She looks almost ethereal, like some kind of fairy. Her hair falls in a silken, pure white sheet down her thin shoulders, framing her delicate, beautiful face with its unnaturally pale skin and light purple eyes. The bright ceiling lights behind her cast some kind of otherworldly glow around her head, forming some kind of halo.

At her presence, my prep team scurries out of the room almost immediately, uttering hushed greetings to her on their way out. The door closes behind them with a sharp snap. 

The woman glides over to me. I'm sitting on the table, shivering from the cold metal, with not even a robe to cover me up, with this strange woman assessing every inch of me. Something close to fear roils around in the pits of my stomach. 

"Good enough," She says finally. Her words are clipped—affected by the Capitol accent, obviously, but a lot more refined. She doesn't take her protuberant purple gaze away from me. I wrap my arms self-consciously over my bare torso, searching the room for any piece of clothing I can wear. 

I can't stand anybody looking at my body critically like this. I already disliked it enough. Every time I breathed, I could count every single one of my ribs. The scars, bruises and marks that crisscross my body. Back home, we're taught not to care. And usually, I don't. But sometimes when I'm alone, there's no stopping the thoughts. 

Finally, the woman pulls her eyes away from my body and looks me in the face this time. "The parade will be starting in a couple of hours. That's soon. Let's begin." 

________________________________

Hours later, I'm standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring right into the reflection of my made-up self. My face is mine, except not really. 

My eyes are lined in black and gold, giving me a smouldering, dangerous stare. My freckles have been erased, to remove any signs of innocence and youth. My lips have been drawn out again to make them fuller, redder. 

But what really stops me cold is the costume. I am a near replica of a Roman gladiator. My dark hair has been smoothed back into the same crown of braids I had worn at the Reaping, except it's tucked carefully beneath a golden gladiator helmet, complete with wings. 

I'm wearing the gladiator costume too—a breastplate embellished with golden wings that extend from the centre of my neck to the bottom of my chest, and a metallic-gold dress that swishes out around my knees and gleams brilliantly every time it catches the light. The whole look is complete with matching gold anklets and arm bands. 

I stare at my reflection in utter astonishment. I look....beautiful. Strong. Alight with power. I allow a smug smile to creep across my lips.

My stylist stands back, clearly satisfied with her work. She lifts a hand and gently straightens out my headdress. 

"Cyrus and I decided to focus more on the reputation of District Two, rather than District Two itself. That's how we came up with the idea for these costumes," She explains. Cyrus must be Cato's stylist. 

"Two; the warrior district. The district that almost always comes out victorious every year." Pride laces her words. "So we decided to make the tributes Roman gladiators. To signify that Two always comes out on top." She caresses my headdress almost lovingly. 

She steps away from me, assessing her work, making any finishing touches. Just then, something occurs to me. 

"Hold on. You never told me your name." 

She smiles slightly. "Oh yes. My mistake. My name is Cora." I'm taken aback by how...ordinary her name seems to be.

"Which District were you from before you became a stylist? Or were you always from the Capitol?" I press on. 

For some reason, this woman was making me extremely curious. She was so strange. She was so like everybody else here, but also so strikingly different. Which made her even stranger. 

Cora opens her mouth to say something, but then a sudden knock sounds from the door. "Oh, of course. The parade must be starting soon. Come now." She flits away to the door, beckoning for me to follow her. 

She leads me down twisting hallways, past countless glass doors and down a fancy elevator and into the bottom level of the Remake Centre. The place is like a gigantic stable. It even smells like one too. 

Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours have gleaming white coats. Cato is already there, with his stylist, who must be Cyrus. Enobaria and Alvaro are nowhere to be seen. Cato is dressed almost identical to me, with a similar headdress and outfit, except a more masculine version. 

I nod shortly at him, gesturing to his costume. "That suits you well, Hadley." 

He tilts his head back to glance at me, his icy blue eyes looking me up and down. "You don't look too bad yourself, Kentwell." 

Cora and Cyrus begin to help us up into our chariots, fixing us into our proper positions. I scoff, rolling my eyes at Cato. "You're just saying that because we're dressed almost exactly the same, aren't you?" 

He raises his eyebrows at me almost teasingly. "What if I am, huh?" 

My upper lip curls up into a half-smirk. Classic Cato Hadley. "Bastard." 

He laughs under his breath, the amused grin on his face almost imperceptible. I chuckle quietly to myself too. 

"Alright, ready?" Cyrus asks us. He has a head of olive green corkscrew curls and a steely grey stare that's almost scary. Cato and I both nod. The opening ceremony is nearly starting. The other pairs of tributes have already mounted their chariots. 

Cyrus turns to Cora and whispers something inaudible in her ear. Cora doesn't even think twice before responding. "No," She says simply. "That would be inadvisable." I raise an eyebrow. I wonder what Cyrus had asked her.

She looks up, fixating her eyes directly on the both of us. There's something different about her gaze. It's more...intense. Almost angry. I feel the familiar hint of fear that tingles in my stomach. "No smiles. Look straight ahead, like the audience is below you. No emotions. Show them that you're fearless. Show them that you're champions." She practically hisses this last word out. 

She speaks so forcefully that all Cato and I can do is nod. Satisfied with our responses, she steps back with Cyrus and disappears into the crowd without so much as a good luck. 

Then, the opening music starts up, blaring out from around us. We only have mere seconds before the ceremony starts and the horses start moving. I betray myself by letting out a soft gasp. 

Cato looks down at me. His lips barely move when he asks, "You good?" 

I nod curtly, steeling myself and regaining my composure. "Look straight, Hadley. No talking. No emotions," I remind him through gritted teeth. 

I don't have time to see what his reaction is or hear his response, if he even has one, because the chariots start moving. 

I feel a momentary surge of panic, but the moment we emerge onto the City Circle, any bit of fear or anxiety immediately vanishes as we are met with the roar of the Capitol crowd. 

At the sight of us, the crowd goes absolutely ballistic, almost bringing down the roof with their yells and screams of adoration. 

Yes, this was it. This was what I came here for. This was our time to shine. Our time to really show District Two's might, to show everyone what the other tributes are up against. And then I realise.

The applause is not for us. I catch sight of one of the giant screens located along the City Circle. The cameras are not on us, but rather on the pair of weaklings from Twelve, whom I had forgotten even existed. And they are on fire. 

The girl is alight, positively glowing with her golden, flickering flames, beaming and waving at the crowd, who are just eating it all up, tripping over themselves and sobbing in admiration. She blows a few kisses at them and they let out shrieks of excitement, grabbing wildly at the air for those intangible, pathetic kisses. 

I'm seething with rage—and so is Cato. Although to say that he's angry is an understatement. His fists are clenched so hard, his knuckles have turned white. His eyes are burning with pure fury, and something else, something that must be visible in my eyes too. Hatred. An inhuman thirst for blood. 

I have a sudden yearning for my beloved throwing knives. I bet I could take those insufferable little swines down from here if I had them. How dare they. This show was ours. This was what we had been waiting for since we were children. We deserved this. And it was all being stolen away from us by a pair of losers from the lowest district in the whole of Panem. No. I refused to let this happen. 

As the chariots pull up in front of the president's mansion, I lock eyes with her. I hold my glare upon hers for so long, she must know that I'm threatening her, no matter how utterly stupid she may be. 

I vow to myself, that Katniss Everdeen will not be as radiant as she is now when she dies by my hand in the Games.


	12. ELEVEN

CLOVE KENTWELL 

Dinner later that night is a quiet event. Cato and I find ourselves sitting at a rectangular dining table piled high with extravagant dishes as usual, surrounded by our mentors, stylists, prep teams, and escort. 

Although the last meal I had eaten was at lunchtime, practically hours ago, and I was supposed to be ravenous by now, especially with all the food, I just wasn't. My appetite had long since vanished, along with my good spirits. And it was all thanks to that rotten pair of tributes from Twelve. 

My fingers close around the butter knife in front of me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose, pretending that the knife's cool handle belongs to the handle of one of my throwing knives at home. I imagine the blade sinking into the flesh of that girl's chest, slicing across the boy's neck. 

These thoughts will have to appease me for now. How dare they? All they were was a pair of scrawny little tributes from the worst part of the entire country, who had not even one ounce of competence in their bodies. And they had the nerve to defy us like that? I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it rips the flesh, and the copper taste of blood floods my mouth. They had some audacity to pull a stunt like that. 

Enobaria tears a chunk of pork with her fangs and chews viciously. I don't think she's that hungry either. She probably just needs something to take her frustration out on. Alvaro, however, is looking the way he always does. His face is impassive, apathetic. Calm, even. He takes a sip of wine from his glass and studies Cato and I. He gestures towards the wide array of food set out in front of us. 

"Eat." 

Cato and I don't move. 

He rolls his eyes at us. "Don't worry too much about whatever just happened." 

Cato, who was already purple with rage to begin with, slams his hand against the table forcefully, rattling all the dishes and cutlery on top of it. 

Monique shrieks in terror and so do some of our prep team. Cora, on the other hand, sits serenely at her seat, her purple eyes fixated hungrily on us, like she's starved of entertainment, and we are the entertainment. That woman was unnerving. 

"Don't stress? Did you seriously just say that?" Cato's voice rises dangerously, sounding particularly loud in such an enclosed space. 

"Hadley." I warn him. 

Alvaro doesn't even blink. "Yes, I did. Those tributes weren't responsible for their costumes tonight. Their stylists were. Their costumes aren't a show of their abilities. And abilities are what truly matter in the Games. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum like a little child over a pair of costumes, how about you focus on something more substantial, like, training perhaps," He says coldly. 

This doesn't pacify Cato at all. In fact, Alvaro's patronising words have probably only added fuel to the fire. "How could you let them upstage us like that? You had one job!" He yells, eyes bulging out of their sockets. I am all too familiar with this look. He's a ticking time bomb; any second now and he's going to explode, and that might be the end of it. 

"Hadley!" I raise my voice louder so he can hear me this time. 

He turns on me. "Are you seriously siding with them right now?" He demands, his eyes swimming with the familiar expression of fury and desperation. 

I know that when I see it, I can't argue with him the way I would normally have. That look of anger and fear in his eyes...I know it comes from something deeper inside of him. It isn't just a petty, childish reaction from being upstaged by someone. It's something else, something worse, that I think I might understand. 

Discreetly, I slip my hand under the tablecloth and place my hand over his. Immediately, he seems to calm down, come to his senses a little bit. The fog clouding his eyes clears slightly, and his shoulders relax. It's like a blazing fire being extinguished. 

I squeeze his hand reassuringly, the way I did so many times before, over the course of our friendship. During our midnight walks around the district. During the cool, dark nights in front of the Academy. It's almost instinctive for me. I'm not thinking about the fact that I need to forget about whatever we have, need to forget that I am going to have to kill him. I just need to be there for him, the way I always was. The way he always was to me.

"Hadley. I'm not taking any sides," I say quietly. His hand is trembling ever so slightly in mine. Slowly and shakily, he forces a nod. 

Gently, I pull my hand away. I can't hold on any longer. I need to forget that we're friends. Friendships don't last in the arena. Cato must know that. All we'll be is allies, like all the Careers always are in every Games, and then we'll leave each other. That's the plan, and I will abide by it. 

There's a moment of silence, where Cato is chugging water to calm himself down, I am fidgeting awkwardly with the edge of the tablecloth, and all eyes are on us, watching and waiting. Finally, Enobaria speaks up. 

"Finally done?" She glares pointedly at Cato. He nods curtly, returning her glare. 

"Good." She and Alvaro then lapse into a series of instructions and schedules that we are to follow. 

We will have three full days of training for the Games, and the first starts tomorrow. Since we are Careers, we must act like Careers, even in training. Which means that we have to show off all of our skills during the training itself in an effort to intimidate our competitors. Although we don't need to put in much effort for that. We are also instructed to scout out our allies and train with them, as well as dine with them during mealtimes. By default, they are the tributes from One and Four. 

However, the main part of their entire speech is just focused on the fact that we need to be the face of the Career pack. We need to show our deadliness, our competence. Under no circumstances are we supposed to back down, show mercy, show weakness. We need to be killing machines. The Games is no place for feelings, or compassion or humanity. No emotions, like Cora had said. Just train, kill, win. Easy. 

They send us off to our living quarters at the Capitol, without so much as a goodnight. Not that that's surprising at all. We leave the dining hall and ride the fancy elevator back up to the second floor where our rooms are located. I'm continuing down the carpeted hallway and am just about to open the door to my bedroom when I hear Cato call me from behind. 

"Kentwell."

I turn around. He stares at me. "Can I talk to you?" 

"No." I turn back around and twist the doorknob. "See you tomorrow, Hadley." 

"Hey, Kentwell. You can't just avoid me forever," He calls. 

"We don't have forever, dipshit," I retort.

"Please." The desperation in his voice stops me cold. He isn't usually like this, and I think he realises that too because he clears his throat, and when he speaks again, his voice is flat. "I just want to talk to you about something. It'll only take a minute." 

Something about it twists my heart in my chest. Something's wrong with him. He's never asked me for permission to talk before. He just gets straight to the point. "Fine. But make it quick. I'm getting tired," I say. God damn it. Why did I have to get thrown into these Games with my best friend of all people? 

He nods and leads me toward the elevator. We step inside and he jabs the button that reads "R" for rooftop assumably. The doors slide open and we are greeted with cool night air. I breathe in deeply, holding the breath in my lungs. I silently thank Cato for bringing us here. 

It reminds me so much of our nighttime walks back at home. I'm suddenly reminded of Leo and Ember and my chest gives a painful pang. It's okay, I assure myself. I'll win for them. 

We sit down near the very edge of the rooftop. I lean against a stone pillar, facing Cato. I hug my knees to myself in an effort to warm myself against the chilly night air. "So what did you need to talk about?"

He doesn't say anything. He just looks off into the distance, observing the scene below us, dotted with sparkling lights from the city below. He shakes his head. "I didn't need to talk about anything in particular."

"Aww. Did you just miss me or something?" I smirk at him even though I don't really feel much like joking around. For a second I think he's just going to laugh at me like he always does, but instead he says, "I just wanted to be with you." 

I burst out laughing. When I realise he's not laughing with me, I wipe the smile clean off my face and clear my throat awkwardly. I study the skin of my hands, discomfort twisting my stomach into knots. "What have you become, Cato, seriously? Now you're saying something cheesy un-ironically?" He doesn't reply. I resist the urge to slap myself. Stop talking, Clove. Stop talking, seriously.

So I do. But so does Cato. The both of us just sit opposite each other wordlessly, listening to the distant sounds of crickets chirping and people laughing and cheering. Soon, they will be laughing and cheering for us. It seems so surreal that the moment I had been waiting for my entire life was going to happen in a matter of days. I feel something flitting around in my stomach. Excitement, maybe? But there was also something else. Fear. Fear that was not for myself, but rather for Cato. I look away from the city lights and turn to him instead. 

"Why did you volunteer for Leo, Hadley?" I blurt out. The pent-up feelings of frustration and the fear of losing my best friend makes me sound like I'm accusing him rather than simply asking him. 

He looks up at me. His eyes are cold and unreadable. "Shouldn't you be thanking me or something?" 

"I was just asking, Hadley. I have a right to know why," I retort. He doesn't respond. His eyes roam over me like he's trying to figure out something about me, which is ironic, because he knows next to everything about me. I'm the one who doesn't have a clue about what goes on in his head. And suddenly I'm angry. I'm so fucking furious. 

"God damn it, Cato! You didn't have to do it, so why the fuck did you do it?" I yell, my voice echoing around the walls of the rooftop. To my horror, I feel pressure building up behind my eyeballs. I feel the telltale tickling sensation in my nose and I know that I'm in danger of crying. That's the last thing I need right now. 

I bury my face into my palms, which feel unnaturally hot. "Why? Cato, why? Someone else would probably have fucking volunteered!" 

No response. The tears are really threatening to spill over now. 

"You wanna know why I volunteered?" Cato's voice suddenly asks. It's a lot tougher than before, but also closer, like he's right in front of me. I don't dare to look up. I don't need him to see my distress, although I'm sure he already knows that it's there. I force a nod. 

"Look, I'm not a monster. I'm cruel, yes. Unkind, yes. But I'm on your side, Clove. I always have been. And I know you wouldn't have wanted to be forced to kill your own brother after you raised him all these years." 

I stop breathing, trying to wrap my head around everything Cato had just said. I hear scuffling sounds next to me, footsteps, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting there alone in the dark, engulfed in my own silence. 

———————————————————————-  
GUYS MY SPOTIFY IS "thirdcabinclato" please follow me and listen to my playlists which are thg, everlark and clato themed :)) 

so obviously this is going to be a slow burn romance 😋 but yeah anyway I'm sorry if I don't update as often because I'm starting to get really busy with school but I will still be updating regularly :)


	13. TWELVE

CLOVE KENTWELL

My sleep that night is plagued with nightmares. Visions of me in the arena, my knives out of reach, invisible ropes coiling around my body, my neck, rendering me silent and completely motionless. Visions of me, lying in a pool of my own blood on the cold hard ground of the arena. Visions of me, on top of Cato, slitting his throat. Me, with his blood dripping from my teeth. 

I wake, feeling as if I have been doused in ice cold water. With a rush of panic, I taste the copper tang of blood in my mouth. A trembling hand flies up to my lips to find ragged skin. My fingers come away crimson. I allow myself a short, shaky breath of relief. I must've just bitten my lips in my sleep. 

"Clove, sweetie!" A shrill voice from outside of my room calls out, and is soon followed by a series of loud knocks against the door. I stuff the duvet into my mouth in an effort to silence the sounds of my laboured breathing. "It's breakfast time! Hurry up, before training starts!" I wait there entangled in my blankets, staring at the hardwood surface of my door until I hear Monique's high heels clicking away. 

I pull the duvet away from me and let it fall onto my lap. Slowly, I crawl from my bed and start to prepare for the day's events, all the while murmuring things to myself under my breath. 

You're fine, Clove. It was just a dream. You're fine. It's not real. But it will be. No, it won't. Shut up. You know I'm right. Shut up, Clove. All you have to do is train and win. You'll be fine. 

I stand in front of the mirror, assessing my appearance in the glass. I'm dressed in my Capitol-issued training attire, a tight fitting black shirt and matching pants, both items of clothing lined in a shade of dark red. I've brushed my dark hair back into a half-braided ponytail so that it doesn't get in the way during training. I grip the skin on my inner left wrist in a hard pinch. The pain is what clears my head. The pain is what always clears my head.

I feel better already. I lace up my training shoes from the Capitol and head out of my bedroom and into the dining room, where everyone is already waiting. 

I slide into the seat next to Cato at the dining table, not because I want to, but because it's the only vacant one. The awkwardness between us because of last night is palpable. I wonder if the people here with us can tell.

"You're late," Enobaria comments. I look up at her. Her smooth dark hair, perfectly made-up face and fine clothing are at odds with the wine glass clutched in her hand and the foggy look of inebriation that clouds her eyes. She raises her eyebrows at me sarcastically. "Too busy prettying yourself up for today?"

I'm not in much of a mood to joke around with anyone today. "You aren't one to talk," I say and nod in the direction of her wine glass. "Keep that up and you'll end up like another Haymitch Abernathy from Twelve. Plummeting off stages during Reapings." 

That in itself is an insult, and Enobaria rightfully takes it as one. She rises in her seat, glowering at me. I think that I've finally done it to myself and I'll die before the Games even start, but Alvaro shoots her a meaningful glare and she reluctantly sits down. 

She bares her fangs at me. "Don't think that just because I'm your mentor I won't rip your throat out."

I know I should probably shut my mouth, but I retort, "I'd like to see you try." 

Enobaria leaps up from her seat once more and I think I'm actually dead meat this time, but Alvaro thankfully starts talking. "So, as you all know, today is your first day of training. Probably shouldn't be that hard for you guys considering all you've done in Two is train. Regardless, we will still give you some instructions you need to follow for today." 

"Because you guys can't be trusted," Enobaria cuts in. "Firstly, you are to stick with your allies from One and Four at all times." 

Cato and I both make noises of dissent at this. The Career Alliances have been tradition for as long as I can remember, but it doesn't mean we necessarily want it. Sure, it'll be easier to bring down the other tributes together, but allies aren't to be trusted. No one can be trusted in these Games.

Enobaria resumes. Frankly, I'm pretty impressed that she can even form a coherent sentence with the amount of alcohol she's consumed.

"During mealtimes, and during every hour of training, you are to stick with each other at all times, regardless of whether you like it or not. You guys need to maintain the image of the Career pack. You know, all-powerful and strong. You guys need to make sure you are widely feared. Not just among the tributes, but also across Panem. It's what you were made to do." 

She sets her glass down with a loud thunk. Wine sloshes onto the tablecloth. "Mess this up, and you're done for. Alvaro and I are only trying to help your sorry asses."

Sorry asses? Us? Does she even know a single thing about who we are? I turn to look at Cato and I see that he's bristling, a mutinous scowl on his face. I open my mouth, starting to argue with her, but Alvaro cuts me off before I say something that'll possibly get me finished off for good. 

"Lastly, remember what we said last night; you are not to display any emotions. Now I'm not saying the both of you should be total robots or anything. But you're smart enough to get my meaning. You're here to win and only to win. Be focused on making that happen." He leans back in his seat and glances lazily at us. "Any questions?" 

Cato and I shake our heads. Our mentors have been clear enough with what they want from us. 

"Great," Enobaria gets up from her seat. "Training starts in ten minutes. Both of you should probably get down there." 

So we do. Our mentors depart, and Monique escorts us down to the Capitol Training Centre, which is several floors below our living quarters. I'm not expecting much, considering the fact that the Academy back home was already very up to standard, but when the sliding glass doors of the Training Centre open, my jaw nearly drops. 

The Training Centre is a vast expanse of space of matte black walls and floors that is sectioned off into stations for training. 

Rows upon rows of different weapons line the room; sharp spears that are probably twice my size. A collection of gleaming swords made of different metals, and best of all, a metal rack decorated with a wide array of my beautiful, beautiful knives. 

Some of them are way different than what I'm used to from home, their bodies uniquely shaped and their blades far sharper than what I usually work with. My mouth waters at the sight. I'm practically itching to get my hands on them. 

I turn to look at my fellow district partner. His eyes are cold and hungry, fixated on the row of swords in the corner of the room. I see his hands clench in longing. I scoff. "Don't get too excited, Hadley. We have to scout our allies first." 

"Look who's talking. Like you weren't just salivating over those knives over there," He replies dryly, his classic smirk playing on his lips. I wish he would stop looking at me and talking to me like we're still friends. It's only making things harder for the both of us. 

I fold my arms over my chest defensively. "And what about it?" 

He grins at me. It looks more like a sneer than anything else. It always does. The first time he ever smiled at me, I was pretty much convinced that he hated my guts. Whenever he smiles, I can't tell whether he genuinely means it or if he's just being his sadistic asshole self. Probably the latter. Whatever it means though, I don't return his smile. Instead, I nod in the direction of the spear throwing station. "There's two of them now." 

I see the girl from One first. Her name is Glimmer, I think. With her perfect blonde pigtails, bright green eyes and pearly-white smile, she is the picture of innocence and beauty. 

I probably would've rooted her out as one of the weak, incapable airheads, until I see her impale a dummy through the chest with a spear. I try to conceal my pleased surprise. Glimmer turns in our direction, tossing her curls casually over her shoulder. When she catches my eye, she winks and her lips stretch out into a grin. 

I feel obliged to smile back. But all sorts of thoughts are running wild inside my head. Glimmer wasn't exactly huge, so how was she able to throw a spear with such accuracy without it taking a toll on her body? 

The spear wasn't exactly the lightest or the easiest weapon to master either. It wasn't just something you could learn overnight. Even I wouldn't be able to hold a spear the right way, let alone throw it with such skill the way she did. 

Apparently, the tributes from One have some sort of relationship with spears, because I watch Glimmer's district partner spear a dummy through the heart from about ten feet away. Considering his tall, lanky figure, he isn't half bad. 

"We found our allies," Cato mutters. His face is mostly impassive, but I can tell that a part of him's pretty impressed with them so far. 

"We need to find the ones from Four," I remind him. 

Cato nods at something in the distance. "Isn't that the girl from Four?" I turn to follow his gaze. Sure enough, at the sword station, is the girl I'd remembered from the rerun of the Reapings, the tall one with the black eyes and waist-length hair. 

I watch as she lifts her arm up in a graceful arc, and with one swift motion, sweeps a training dummy's head clean off of its shoulders. It falls pathetically to the floor with a muffled thud. She tosses her magnificent head of hair back, shaking it from her face. 

I watch in thinly veiled awe. That girl was twice my height but she probably only had a couple of pounds on me. She was another one like Glimmer. How was she able to effortlessly wield a sword like that like it weighed nothing? Cato always said that swords weren't as light as they seemed. And that was coming from Cato, who was built like an ox. 

"What's her name?" I demand. 

"Four?" Cato clarifies. I nod. 

"You want her, don't you?" He asks. I'm not looking at him, but I can hear the trace of amusement in his voice. 

"And you don't?" I retort. 

"What if I don't?" 

"Then you're a fool, Hadley." I scoff. 

I hear him laugh. A sarcastic one, the one he usually uses, especially on me.

"You can call me whatever you like, Kentwell. But I don't really need anyone new. I've already got you on my team, haven't I?" 

I whip around to face him, but he's already walking away from me.


End file.
